


Ménage

by Hoodoo



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Acceptance, Afterglow, Angel Wings, Blood, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Choking, Cigarettes, Coffee, Come as Lube, Comfort No Hurt, Confessions, Demon Summoning, Drinking, Exhaustion, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting, False Accusations, Feelings Realization, Fingering, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Foreplay, Forgiveness, German poetry, Hand Jobs, Healing, Higher Ranking Angel: Powers, Isolation, Loneliness, M/M, Masturbation, Morning Cuddles, New Beginnings, Oral Sex, Pain, Penis In Vagina Sex, Permission, Protection, Rejection, Sleepy Cuddles, Smoking, Snooping, Stroking, Talking, Teasing, Tentacles, Threats of Death, Threesome - F/M/M, Tiger king, Touching, Uncertainty, Uninvited Guest, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Sparring, Violence, Willingness to Try, Woman on Top, angel - Freeform, fight, hand holding, spellwork, uncomfortable discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24320974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Trying to ease her loneliness, a woman calls up an equally lonely demon, which catches the attention of someone who should have been more attentive to her in the first place.
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Original Character(s), Beetlejuice/Dewey Finn, Beetlejuice/Original Male Character, Beetlejuice/Originial Female Character(s), Beetlejuice/rp character
Comments: 39
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on an rp between myself and the so-insanely-talented-I'm-jealous [monsterlovinghours](https://monsterlovinghours.tumblr.com/).

The air felt charged, heavy with static and anticipation as she set the final pieces of her altar in place. Herbs to attract, to sanctify the space and make the veil between the living world and the next paper-thin, easily breached. Incense, to purify. Sigils to charge her magic, like amplifiers drawn in white chalk to channel and to cast. Lastly, she set three tapered candles in separate jars, evenly spaced, and lit them from right to left. First, the black candle, for grounding and focus. Then, the green, for good fortune in her endeavor. And finally, the white, for goodness and purity. There was no way the ritual could fail. Right?

Molly took a deep breath, in for three, and out for five. The incantation she had spent the entire day memorizing ran through her head, line by line; she knew it by heart, but even so, her heart wavered. There was no guarantee it would work the way she wanted to, or even work at all; magic was tricky that way, she had found. Spells of this magnitude were just a little beyond her pay grade; she had stuck mostly to kitchen magic, green magic, _safe_ magic. Things to help her garden grow, to bring a sense of peace into her empty home.

_Empty._

She cleared her throat. Steeled her resolve. She had faith in her ability, and if there was anything her home needed, it was a good spirit to help fill it. Another deep breath, and the spell began to spill from her lips, palms placed flat upon the altar. The words filled the quiet space, gathering momentum, until the final syllable dropped like a guillotine, and the candles blew out, plunging the room into the darkness.

_Did it work?_

As always, there was the bittersweet taste in his mouth and a pressure in his gut that made him want to curl up and stretch at the same time. He grimaced at first, but the sweet grew stronger than the bitter with each recitation of his name, and by third syllable of the third repeat, he felt like he could take on the world.

With an ecstatic laugh, Beetlejuice stepped out of the nowhere and into here, wherever here was. His amber eyes landed on the breather who'd been so kind as to call him.

"Baby, you have made my day!" he crowed, and swept towards her, arms open wide for a hug.

She _screamed._ She couldn't help it. The laugh was answer enough that her spell had worked, jarring and maybe just a little bit unhinged. Not the gentle chill or whisper that she had been expecting. And then, to see something so very solid and unspiritlike come charging out of the darkness, arms open as its eyes and teeth glittered in equal measure? She scrambled backward, heart hammering in her chest. That was _not_ the result she had been hoping to yield.

Pressed to the wall, she paused a moment, willing herself to settle down; there was no reason to believe she was in any immediate danger. After all, it had called her _baby,_ seemed practically giddy to be here in her living room, and had approached her with gratitude. Very _intimidating_ gratitude. 

"Wh . . . who are you?" 

Her heart still galloping in her chest, she fumbled for the light switch, flooding the room with light and getting a better look at her new houseguest. At first glances, yes, he seemed terrifying. But, as she looked closer, the less imposing he seemed. Tall, wearing a dingy, threadbare suit in garish black and white carnival stripes, chipped nails a dull black, his hair a mossy green. 

"Are you . . . you're not a spirit, are you?"

"What is that, sage?" Beetlejuice asked the woman who was half cowering against the wall. "Smells good, baby, but not as good as you, I bet."

He winked and swooped in, giving her a hug that squeezed her arms to her sides. She was cute. To be polite, he should answer her questions.

"Am I a spirit?" he replied. "Like the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come? Nah. More like the Ghost with the Most. The spirit of here and now and let's have some fun, ya know? But first things first--you called me up. Who do I need to kill?"

Before she could reply that yes, that was sage, sage and lavender and palo santo and a host of other herbs, he had swept her up into a bone-crushing hug that nearly pushed the air out of her lungs. Her spine creaked in protest, groaning as the smell of him surrounded her, wet earth and moss and a hint of something sulphuric. Unusual, but not altogether unpleasant. And there was that pet name again; he certainly was a flirtatious . . . whatever he was.

Her eyes widened when she heard the word _kill_ leave his mouth, and she frantically shook her head. 

"No! No, no, no one, no one needs killing!" 

Despite her arms being pinned, she did her best to grasp at him, managing to grab his hips and try to push him back just enough to allow her to take a full breath. 

"Let's . . . whoa, okay, slow down a second. So you _are_ a ghost? You seem pretty solid to me." The Ghost of Here and Now, he had called himself, and she didn't want to think about the kind of _fun_ he was alluding to.

"And you don't have to call me baby. My name is Molly."

Her hands on his hips were a trigger to press into her more tightly. He couldn't help it; it just felt _right._

He barely listened to her list of whatever ingredients she was talking about, but his ears perked up at the word "kill", only to realize that once again, that was off the table. As to her other question, the one she seemed stuck on, he replied,

"Ghost, spirit, demon . . . Does that really matter? You called. I, uh, _came._ And I like calling you baby. If that doesn't vibe with you, there's always ‘baby girl.’ How's that for a compromise?"

He grinned at her, and tried not to show too many pointed teeth.

Now not only were his arms pinning her, his body was as well, crushing her against the wall. Okay. Wrong place to grab. Molly instead wriggled her arms up to press against his chest, hoping to push him back a hair so she could breathe.

"'Baby' is fine," she muttered in defeat; 'baby girl' was a realm she was not comfortable stepping into only knowing him for a minute and a half at most. "And no, I . . . I suppose it doesn't matter." 

She sighed in defeat; the spell had done its job, and it wasn't her guest's fault she didn't specify exactly what kind of spirit she wanted. 

"Can, um, can you let up a bit? I'm getting lightheaded."

Her gaze lifted to his face, noticing now that there were patches of green on his jaw and by his nose. Moss? Mold? Rot? Each possibility seemed more disturbing than the last. Yet, past the unidentifiable substances, he wasn't half-bad on the eyes. Eyes the color of honey, framed by dark lashes. Grinning lips that held a distinct purplish hue, and rather sharp teeth. Huh. Surprisingly enough, she wasn't afraid of his inhuman appearance, no small amount of fascination creeping into her gaze. Well, he may not be the spirit she had wanted, but she could be happy with what she got. 

"Is there something I can call you?"

Her wiggling felt nice, until he remembered breathers needed to breathe, and he relaxed his grip. He only took half a step away, though, she was too warm to just let go!

"What to call me?" Beetlejuice mused, licking his teeth. "Honey or lover are good. Sweetheart. Love of my life! Don't laugh, but I'm a little partial to lambkins, even if it's from like the fifteenth century. "

He'd seen the slow interest growing in her eyes disappear like candy floss in water, and reined it in.

"You can call me BJ. Or Beej," he quickly amended. "So what made someone sweet as you call up someone like me?

Much needed oxygen filled her lungs as he took a half-step back, his arms still pressed around her. That was fine, as long as she could breathe. As it was, her hands were still on his chest, despite the sought-after distance. It was just . . . nice. Despite the lack of warmth or discernible heartbeat, it was nice to touch and be touched. When was the last time she had actually experienced deliberate touch?

Molly couldn't help it; at the offered pet names, she let out a short laugh. 

"Sorry, wow, but _lambkins?"_ She hadn't meant to laugh; it had slipped out before she could catch it, and for the first time since his arrival, she was able to slip into a small smile. "Beej is good. Or, y'know, I used to call people 'honey' all the time anyway. That's fine with me.

"Well," she started, nodding to what remained of her altar; she had accidentally kicked it as she had scrambled backward, knocking the candles and half the herbs to the floor, "I was attempting to summon a spirit that would be good for my home, a . . . _calming_ presence. I don't think I did it right." 

She sighed. "Still learning the big stuff. But you're here anyway, and honestly? It's just . . . it's nice to hear someone else's voice."

It may have been a trick of the light, but what could have been hope glinted in her eyes as she looked up at him. "So, I mean, even though you're not what I meant to summon, you're welcome to stay, if you'd like."

Beetlejuice smiled as she laughed, even at his expense. It had been a while since he'd spent time with a warm living person, and the fact that she hadn't actively pushed him away was nice. Nice enough that she was going to feel the effect she was having on the ol' Sandworm in his pants, if he couldn't will it away.

"You have a pretty voice," he told her, before shaking his head. "A calming spirit? Like a brownie, uh, house spirit or some kind of fey? What the hell for? Those things aren't calming, they're like goddamn raccoons on speed, getting into all your stuff. And if you invite them in, then piss them off?! They'll make your life a living hell, baby."

He stared off into the middle distance for a second, then gave himself a shake.

"So. Yeah. You're lucky you got me instead! You did a good job wrapping your tongue around those syllables . . . I bet it'd be good wrapped around other things too."

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

Despite the alarming oddness of her current situation, the compliment caused a petal-pink blush to spread across her cheeks, eyes dropping as he admonished her against inviting spirits into her home. At least, the troublesome sort, of which she was not fully convinced he was not.

The pink quickly flushed to red at his very thinly veiled innuendo, choking on air at the insinuation and the suggestive arch of his brow. 

"U-Uh . . . " She had nothing. Not a single response. Her brain short circuited at the thought. "Well, th-that . . . is not outside the realm of possibility, but . . . Jesus, I haven't even talked to another person face to face in almost two years. Let me get to know you a little better before I wrap my tongue around anything, huh?"

Her hands gave his chest a gentle pat, then dropped, indicating that she wanted to move from her spot against the wall. "Do you wanna go sit down? Personally I could use a drink. Do you drink? _Can_ you drink?"

His eyes flicked from her lips to the color on her cheeks and back to her lips again, amused at her cute flustered stuttering. The rest of it though; he pursed his own lips for a moment and cocked his head.

"You haven't spoken to anyone in almost two years? Did you take some vow of silence? Did talking to me break that vow, and--" he dropped his voice in a conspiratorial whisper, "--now you're going to hell? Let me tell you, it's totally worth it, minus the smell. All the demon dick or snatch you might want. Everybody swings both ways, sexually."

In case she wasn't one hundred percent sure what he meant, he released her and made two hand gestures, one to each side to give a visual demonstration. He glanced back up at her with a smirk before it came to him he may have overstepped a little, and he reeled it back in.

"But you know what? You've probably got your reasons," he said, waving the whole thing off. "What've you got to drink? Absinthe? Gin? Corked wine? I'm not too picky."

With that, he finally backed away, spinning on his heel to investigate the room she'd called him too. He knelt and picked up a candle that had fallen to the ground, the green one, and twirled it between his fingers. He pinched some of the scattered plant material he found too, and sniffed it; to his disappointment it was not weed. Standing again, he righted all the candles and set the green one in its place.

"How'd you find my name, anyway?" he asked casually, lighting the green candle from the tip of his finger, and then extinguishing the flame again. "Usually people pronounce it differently and, uh, get this shorter version. Of me."

He lit the candle again, then smashed the flame between his thumb and fingers peevishly, imagining it was the _other_ guy's face. Suddenly, though, he whipped around to her.

"Where are my manners? What's your name, baby?" he asked, as if he'd been horribly rude. 

The gesture made her flush deepen a shade, a strange knot forming low in her belly, and she shook her head. 

"No . . . no, no vow of silence. It's . . . well, it's a long story, and I'd prefer to have liquor in me if I'm gonna unpack all of that." She took a deep breath, willing the burning in her cheeks to fade before starting for the kitchen. "I have strawberry whiskey. Pink as French whore but it kicks like a rifle. Or I have regular whiskey, but that's not as fun."

She quickly poured drinks, the familiar sound of ice crackling as she poured whiskey over it into two glasses helping her calm back down. Okay. She had a ghost in her living room. A very solid, very bold, and admittedly very handsome ghost. This was fine. This was good. This was basically what she wanted, and the fact that she could touch her guest? A perk.

She came back out with glasses in hand to find him at the altar, settling the candles back in place, lighting one only to snuff it out again. Apparently he can produce fire from his fingertips. Neat. 

"Well . . . I had to do some digging, but . . ." She sighed and handed him his drink. "This is embarrassing. I searched for a spell that would attract a good spirit . . . to a lonely soul." She grimaced and jerked her thumb toward herself. "Three guesses who _that_ is.

"And my name is Molly. Nice to official meet you, honey." With a smirk, even daring a wink at the suggested nickname, she sank onto the couch and indicated that he should do the same.

Beetlejuice accepted the glass and sniffed the pink liquid in it suspiciously.

"It's a nice color," he told her. "Matches that pretty blush of yours.”

It smelled like alcohol, with a faint top note of sweet, so he shrugged and threw it back. The familiar burn of booze gave him faux warmth on its way down. Then the ice hit his teeth and it dawned on him people put ice in drinks that were to be sipped. Breathers and their weird social rules.

"Molly. Nice to meet you too, baby," he said, holding up his now empty glass in a toast. He sank onto the couch, like this was a proper social visit. "Lonely? A hot babe like you? I have a hard time believing that. But--"

He paused and dropped his gaze to the glass in his hand.

"--it's something I'm familiar with. That spell might've worked just fine, baby. Connected two lonely people. Brought 'em together."

That was a little more personal than he tended to get. He'd toss it off as an effect of the booze, if she asked, but one glass of whiskey wasn't enough to affect him. It was just her and the fact she called him.

He lifted his eyes to hers again, although he didn't pick up his head, gazing at her from slightly under his brows, slightly from the side.

"So, Molly, what were you hoping would come out of inviting a spirit into your place?"

_Hot babe?_ She scoffed derisively, sipping her drink as he settled into the couch beside her. "Dunno what's hot about a social recluse with emotional baggage, but whatever you say, hon."

Her brow raised as he admitted that her spell might have worked better than she thought, that he was just as starved for company as she was. Did ghosts get lonely? Where were all the other dead people? Molly couldn't help a small smile, her heart feeling tugged toward him. When he cast his gaze at her, looking aside as if afraid to face her directly, she scooted closer, cross-legged on the couch facing him.

"Mostly I was hoping to feel less alone. I cut off contact with people for my own reasons, but that doesnt keep me from getting lonely. I figured if not the living, try the dead." Gently, her touch feather light, she reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Honestly? I wasn't expecting to have a guest I could touch. So I'm glad I got you."

It was foreign to him why someone would purposefully choose to not be with people. That was a driving force in his existence; a need that was only marginally met, and usually only a fraction of the time he wanted it.

He lifted his head more properly and looked her over more fully. No matter how she scoffed her own personal opinion of herself, she was pretty.

Her shifting closer on the cushions and even going so far as to put one of her hands on him sent a thin electric jolt through him. He could even imagine the warmth of her palm seeping through his jacket sleeve.

"A guest you could touch, huh? Some beings can become corporeal, baby, but not all of them are willing to let humans touch them. You're lucky you didn't call something celestial," he said with a grin. "Luckily, I'm not one of them."

Her grin seemed to mirror his, though hers was decidedly less sharp. 

"Honey, I'm still small time, I dont think I have the juice to call something celestial." 

Her hand rubbed his arm, noting the interesting texture of his suit, ragged and coarse. Already, the house felt less cavernous, less empty, less _haunted_ with him here, and how was that for irony? It may take some adjusting, but she was looking forward to him staying here.

If he even intended to stay.

Her hand faltered a bit at the thought. No one stayed. That was the point. As if wrapped in iron bands, her chest suddenly felt tight, and she looked down as if noticing his empty glass for the first time. 

"Let me top you off," she said quietly, taking the glass, the ice inside barely melted, since there was no body heat to warm the glass. "You wanna try regular whiskey this time or are we sticking with the pink stuff?"

The petting was nice. Even if it was to just feel the texture of his suit, he could imagine it was for him.

"Don't think you couldn't catch the attention of something celestial, baby," he told her sincerely, before dropping his voice as if maybe one of them was listening in. "Like demons, they're whores. Always looking for attention. But with their aversion to being touched by a human, they're more Dommy than anything else."

He threw her a wink, but his smile faded at her sudden change in demeanor. She'd become smaller, somehow, as she took his glass. Still, he couldn't help but try again.

"You can definitely top me, Molly," he replied as he gave up the glass, deliberately leaving any reference to drink out.

His bold joke made her somber expression break into laughter suddenly, a quick chuff as she hid pinked cheeks behind her hand. Molly pretended to scold him, though her eyes smiled, a grin twitching on her mouth. 

_"Behave."_

In the kitchen, she poured him a measure of the regular whiskey, which unfortunately was cheap, the plastic jug it came in sloshing half-empty as she filled his glass. His various suggestive comments and innuendos hadnt gone unnoticed, or, frankly, unappreciated. The thought, ghost or not, made heat shiver down her spine, a feeling she was very unfamiliar with. But still, Molly remained doubtful that he could actually _mean_ it. Sure, it was all fun and games until he figured out her story, understood the weight of the burden he'd be taking on with her.

Why was she even worrying about this? He was _dead._ What higher standard could he possibly have? Molly rolled her eyes and took a swig straight from the jug, grimacing at the bitterness. She'd spend all night in the kitchen fretting at this rate.

Refreshed drinks in hand, she settled back on the couch, in the same position as he before, her folded knees brushing his thigh. Her unoccupied hand reached for his, the chill of his flesh less of a shock now, with the warmth of the liquor in her blood. 

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

He listened to Molly move through her kitchen, hoping to hear her talk to herself for some more info on her. That wasn't eavesdropping, not really, he told himself; she knew he was there. But she was quiet, and quickly returned with another glass, sinking down beside him again.

He accepted the refill of this not-pink-at-all-drink, raised it properly in a toast, and liked very much that she took his hand as she settled in this time.

"So, you sound like you have a lot of experience with celestials. Is it just angels? What are they like?"

"Celestials?" he asked. "You really wanna hear about them? Pompous, jealous, dickwads? It's not just angels, either . . . anything that didn't turn away from the Light calls itself a celestial, and they're all busy jerking off to their own superiority. Sometimes they like to try and herd lesser beings back to what they think is the Way. Gets 'em brownie points or some horseshit."

He took a swig.

"Is that what you were hoping to call here?" he asked, barely keeping the distain out of his voice. "They're like Jehovah's Witnesses or fucking ringworm -- you can't get rid of them once they're here."

He extracted his hand from hers and drew his blackened fingernails through her palm and to her wrist.

"I think you'll find getting me was a much better choice, baby."

Rapt, she listened, her thumb idly brushing the side of his hand; his disdain was easy to perceive, but she was fascinated nonetheless. How many humans got an opportunity like this, to hear about the afterlife, to know even tiny details about the ever-looming What Comes Next?

"You know, I don't doubt you. I'm not exactly the religious type anyway." 

The scrape of his blunt, dark nails across her palm to the delicate inner face of her wrist made her heart stutter in her chest, and goosebumps immediately raised on her arm all the way up to her shoulder. Oh. That had felt far too good.

She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks again, wondering how many times this ghost had made her blush in the half hour or so he'd been in her home. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. She flipped her hand over, lying it palm up on her knee, and took a long sip of her drink, draining half in one swallow. 

"Do that again?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, half a smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"This, baby?" he asked to confirm, even as he repeated the motion, first and second fingers circling in her palm, following the creases there like he was divining before dragging them to her wrist and the soft skin of her inner arm. He pulled his fingers backwards to her hand and did it again.

Without permission but with the same smirk on his face, his fingers skipped from her arm to her thigh. They were even lighter there, dragging slowly upward, even as he watched for her reaction.

If his smile wasn't enough to make her heart begin to race, the slow, deliberate drag of his fingertips across her palm certainly did the trick. There were calluses on her fingers from working in her gardens, but her palms remained soft, sensitive, and she couldn't help pinching her lower lip between her teeth to hold back a sigh. Who knew such a simple touch could have such a physical effect on her?

When his fingers migrated to her thigh, bare beneath a thin pair of cotton pajama shorts, she couldn't keep a soft moan back, shivering at the more intimate touch, sliding slowly inward. This . . . oh, it was _nice_ but she couldn't . . . he needed to know what he would be signing up for.

"Hey," she whispered, placing her hand over his to still his progress. "This . . . look, I like you touching me. I like it a _lot._ But if you . . . if you want more . . . there's a few things you should know about me first." 

She sighed, feeling embarrassment and anxiety creeping icy tendrils around her ribcage. "I don't . . . I . . . um, I haven’t done this. I haven't even been kissed. This is all fresh territory for me, and there's a really big reason why."

At the hesitation in her voice and her physically stopping his hand, he cocked his head. She had let the softest moan ever escape. There was the faintest tremble to the fingers atop his. Her breath had come more quickly, and that same pretty blush had darkened her cheeks again.

He didn't want to care about her reason; she was responsive and just the fact she'd called him was arousing. He sported a bit of a tent pole behind his fly, but he wasn't all demon. He knew pain. He'd _caused_ pain gladly, sometimes. But Molly, this woman who may had inadvertently summoned him hadn't immediately banished him, so he wasn't going to do that to her.

So he stopped.

"Everyone starts somewhere, baby," he told her, hoping it sounded more philosophical and less smarmy, and then he waited.

She was grateful that he stopped, that he didnt press his hand forward, only cocked his head in response. He even spoke gently, assuring her that everyone started somewhere, and she was grateful for that too. 

"I know. If it was just the virginity thing, your hand would already be in my shorts. I wouldn’t have stopped you just for that." She took a deep breath, let it out, realizing just how long it had been since she had spoken to another person about this.

"I . . . I lost my whole family when I was fifteen. All of them. My older sister was graduating high school and my parents threw a huge party for her. Everyone came, aunts, grandparents, cousins. Everyone. I was being a shitty teenager and didn't figure they'd miss me, so I took a walk, just wanting to be away from so many people asking if I was gonna graduate valedictorian like my sister. And . . . well, I grew up in a small town in the rural midwest, which means half the town made cooking meth their day job. Our neighbors happened to be cooking that day and it...went wrong. The explosion took out half the block, including the house behind it. My house." She paused. She could get through this. "No one got out but me.

"After that, it was foster homes until I could legally be on my own. I had a small fortune in inheritance, since I was the only living relative of anyone with a will. I got a shitty apartment and stewed in a delicious mix of PTSD and survivor's guilt until I turned twenty and started putting my life back together. Got my GED and a BA in journalism. Even got a girlfriend." 

A short smile curled on her mouth, but it was joyless. 

"Met on an online literary forum. She lived two states away, so we were long distance for a year. She was gonna drive down to spend Christmas with me, and her car . . . hit some black ice. She was killed on impact. She was still in the closet back at home, so I only found out because her best friend found my Facebook. I couldn't even go to her funeral."

"After that, I . . .I just couldn't do it. Everyone I ever loved had died, and not peacefully. I couldn't let myself be around people. I felt cursed. I still feel cursed. I bought this house and I . . . I don't leave it. That's why you're the first person I've spoken to face to face in nearly two years." Her head hung, ashamed at her own weakness, thoughts dark with the horrible memories she has dredged up from the murk.

"Still think I'm worth the trouble?"

Oh, he had some stories about his past that would rival hers, but this wasn't the time or place for one-upmanship. He could bitterly tell her that shitty things happen to everyone, and that's life: just a series of falling down to claw yourself back up again, over and over. You did it or you didn’t, and no one’s path was the right one for anybody else.

But the deep pain he’d experienced that should’ve made him calloused and sour wasn’t quite there. Hers was different, nothing like his, and that didn’t make the deep-seated anger flare.

“So you thought calling up a spirit would give you some companionship,” he said. It was a statement, not a question. His voice dropped. “And you got _me_ instead.”

Slowly, his fingers curled in on themselves, towards his own palm, until he was no longer touching her. Gently he extracted his hand out from under hers.

He tried to chuckle, but it came out a little strained. “Second best again.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his gaze flicked downward, away from her for a moment, until he collected himself. When he did, straightening and leaving his hand on his own knee, he was able to look at her again.

“Tell me again what you wanted from the spirit you were trying to call up. I’m no good at conversation, I cheat at cards and Monopoly, I’ve eaten my fair share of puzzle pieces. TV is okay, so long as it’s reruns of the Jerry Springer Show. I’m not really suited for the quiet life that it seems like you’ve got going here--I’m more an inappropriately physical specter, if you hadn’t noticed.

“I’ve liked being here, baby, and the drinks were nice, but you might be better sending me on my way and trying your ritual again.”

For a moment, though his eyes were downcast and his posture already shrinking back from her, Molly could see something in his eyes. Something fractured and irreparable. Raw and pained on a level she couldn't possibly begin to fathom. Then the veil dropped, the veneer smoothly tugged back into place, his voice carefully measured and cold.

"What?" It was her turn to cock her head, brow furrowing. "I don't understand, second best to who? I called a spirit and you answered. Haven't I said more than once that I'm happy you're here?" 

Reining herself in before her voice got too shrill, Molly took a deep breath.

"Just like I wasn't sure what kind of spirit would answer, I wasn't sure what I'd want if they did. Different spirits have different rules." She bit harshly at her lip, tugging threads of skin loose until the spot began to bleed. "I hoped maybe we could figure it out together, but I guess I just ruined that. I want you to stay, Beej, but I won't make you. Everyone else left, so I shouldn't have assumed you wouldn't leave, too." 

She shrank back against the arm of the couch, tugging her knees up protectively to her chest.

People tended to dismiss him, so that wasn't totally unexpected; it was a familiar ache. But people didn't tend to be upset that he offered to go, didn't tend to try and tuck the blame back in on themselves, and didn't tend to tell him repeatedly they wanted him to stay.

In the silence that stretched between them, he considered what she'd said. Seeing her worry her lip till the red on it wasn't lipstick, he dug around in a pocket till he found a scrap of cloth that may have been a handkerchief at one time.

"Here," he told her, shaking it out. He looked it over, reading the monogram, before offering it to her. "I can't imagine old HPL is going to mind you using this. Why the hell anyone would be buried with a snotrag is beyond me."

He left it on the cushion between them, and sighed.

"Molly, I'm sorry I'm not what you expected when you wanted someone here. But . . ." He paused and made sure she was looking at him before continuing. "None of those people in your life left you. Not voluntarily, and that's a big difference than someone choosing to go."

Now the hard part, because it was dangerous being honest; in his experience, people used it against him. "You've said you'd like me to stay. _I'd_ like to stay too, baby. A little company and comfort? Who in their right mind would turn that down?"

His own gaze had flicked to one side, a little, but he forced it back up to hers.

Out of her peripherals, she could see him moving, and assumed he was getting off the couch to leave. So when he produced an off white square of fabric and placed it in the neutral space between them, her brow knitted in confusion. Molly reached for it; there was probably more bacteria on this handkerchief than in a public restroom, but the gesture was kind, and she held it to her bleeding lip anyway.

Hope leapt in her chest like a flame when he admitted that he'd like to stay. Unfurling from her position on the couch, she sat closer to him, and hardly believing her daring, she lifted her hand to cup her palm against his cheek, touch light in case she needed to pull away quickly. 

"I was expecting at most some kind of poltergeist, something I could feel but couldn't see. Something to make the place feel less empty. But you came through, and I can talk to you and touch you . . . honey, don't apologize because you weren't what I was expecting. This is _better."_

Her thumb swept over the ridge of his cheekbone, secretly hoping no moss had rubbed off on her hand. "I would . . . I would really like you to stay. You're fascinating, and fun to talk to, and cute . . ." She bit her lips out of habit, wincing as her teeth raked the tender spot. "Please."

Her feather light touch made his eyelids flutter closed. It was something he could never get enough of, something he'd never tire of. He had to actively prevent himself from pushing into her like a damn cat.

When she relayed what she'd been hoping for and at her quiet admission that she'd like him to stay, he opened his eyes again and caught her gaze. He also couldn't help drop his eyes to her grabbing her lip between her teeth again. A smile grew on his face, and he hoped it distracted enough from what was growing in his pants.

Beetlejuice twisted his head under her hand a little, planting a kiss into her palm.

"I'd like to stay too, baby," he murmured against her skin, before he lifted his amber eyes to hers again. "You expected a poltergeist, but I can go bump in the night too, you know.

"If you're interested . . ."

There was something about the way his eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his cheeks as her palm brushed his cheek, that made her insides tremble; odd how such a minuscule gesture could affect her entire body, could make her breath catch. And oh, when his eyes opened again, intense and pinned to her, missing not a single move she made, and he _smiled._ Molly wondered if she was supposed to feel this way, if it was the isolation talking or if it was normal to have your heart try to hammer through your ribcage.

His lips were cool, colder than the rest of his skin from the chilled liquor, but they left a spot of warmth behind, ticking her palm as he spoke softly against it. Her stomach did a somersault, then another when he caught her gaze again, that playful flicker alight in his eyes. How could she possibly say no?

"I am interested," she breathed, her hand pressing just a bit more firmly to his cheek, leaning closer. Her drink was set aside, her other hand mirroring its twin, cradling his face between them. Her hands ached with the need to bestow gentleness on him; he seemed to be in desperate need of it. "You . . . you can touch me again . . . if you want."

He didn't need any further invitation. The hand he'd teased her with before went back to her thigh, using light pressure to draw a line up it. He made it to the hem of her shorts, then eased his fingers under it before stopping.

He shifted his head in her palm, and put his teeth on the fleshy mound below her thumb even more lightly than his lips had been.

When she moved closer in, he finally moved out of her hand again.

"Never been kissed, you said?" he confirmed, his voice a tad lower than before. "That's a crime. You bit your lip, and I don't wanna hurt you, baby, but I do want a taste . . ."

He left that hanging in the air as he tilted his head and his mouth covered hers. 

The skin beneath his fingers seemed to tremble at their passage, a soft rush of breath leaving her as those gentle fingertips slipped under the hem of her shorts, caressing her inner thigh but venturing no further. A hot flush crept down her neck at the sight of his teeth, the soft scrape of the sharp edges making her lips part. Such subtle touches, but God, the effect they had on her.

Like a peal of passing thunder, the last parting rumbles at the end of a clearing storm, his question was asked, and Molly shook her head to confirm that no, she had never been kissed, head tilted back slightly to bare a throat that bobbed in a heavy swallow. Her hands slid to his shoulders, digging slightly into the material of his suit to ground herself as he crooned to her, leaning closer, closer . . .

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

It was gentle, that first intimate contact, and she let her eyes slip closed. The coolness of his lips helped the sting, and if her mouth hadnt been occupied she would have told him that for this, for him, she didnt mind a little pain. During the kiss, she inched closer, felt a pull in her gut she couldnt ignore, craving more touches, more kisses, more of him.

The slightly salty taste of the blood on her lips made him groan deep in his throat. He was no vampire or incubus, but the taste of it excited him too; breathers had no clue about how intoxicating it could be.

He couldn't help wanting more, and his tongue slipped through her lips, delving a little deeper, wanting not just a lick of salt but the underlying taste of her. His free hand came up and half caught the nape of her neck and half threaded into her hair, keeping her close, while the hand that had grown still on her thigh gave her a squeeze and inched slightly higher, to the junction between her legs.

The rumble of that deep, throaty groan buzzed against her lips, seeming to reach down into her and set her bones to vibrating, nerves strummed like guitar strings. Molly pressed closer, parting her lips for him, goosebumps prickling across her skin as his hand settled against the side of her neck, fingers twisted in her Mediterranean blue hair. She wasn't sure if this was how all first kisses were supposed to feel, or if he was just especially good, but for all the heartache that preceded it, she was glad that he had been the first to kiss her.

A jolt went through her as his fingers crept inward, pressing lightly between her legs, cold meeting warm, Atlantic meeting the Caribbean. The soft noise she made melted like sugar between their tongues, her hands fumbling at the knot of his tie, pulling it loose before smoothing down his chest, flicking open the first couple of buttons on his shirt. It was only fair she get a head start, with him in a suit and her only in a t-shirt and shorts.

Her fingers loosened his tie and popped the buttons on his shirt quickly; lewdly he wondered if they were going to be nimble enough to undo a zipper that was being strained by his hard on. He also wondered, despite her seeming to like this kiss, if she was going to pull away or slap him if his hand moved in closer--

\--nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Beetlejuice lightly, delicately, drew his fingers up the seam of her shorts, right over her pussy. It was a light enough touch that he could feign innocence if she asked, but his grin through the kiss would give him away.

It may have been her imagination, or perhaps her hands getting used to the temperature of his skin, but he seemed warmer below the collarbones, her hands gently nudging his shirt aside to feel the smooth slide of her palms against him. What was it about skin to skin contact that felt so nice? Her head tilted, changing the angle of the kiss, adjusting to the taste of earth and cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey...not an entire unpleasant combination.

Her back stiffened, her lips breaking from his in a soft gasp as his fingers traced so lightly over her, the touch gentle but deliberate. Though their mouths weren't connected, she could nonetheless feel his grin, could practically hear the creak of dead skin stretching. There should have been hesitation, even dread, a moment of please wait I don't know if this is what I want.

But there wasn't.

Molly gently pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, worried that he would take this pause for displeasure. In an echo from when he had first drawn his fingers across her skin, she whispered, "Do that again."

Her hands left fire in their wake as her palms went down his chest; he felt the warmth of them settle deeply inside, and it fanned the flames of desire. They never knew he’d just revel in simple touch, if they let him--not that he complained when they wanted more!

A chuckle came more from his throat than his mouth at her request.

“Do it again, babydoll?” he asked, even as his fingers complied, drawing up her most intimate area with a little more pressure. The warmth from her hands was nothing compared to the heat between her legs, and he licked his teeth. “And again? Again?”

With each query he repeated the motion, adding more force, with each pass. He paused then, his hand fully cupping her mound; his palm pressed to the top while his fingers were lower between her legs. He used just the tips to stroke her steadily, without moving his hand from this position. He grinned again, and darted forward to kiss her again, less easy now, more demand and expectation.

Again, that laugh like distant thunder, reverberating through her despite its softness. She nodded, not trusting her lungs to fill enough to reply as his fingers traced over her, up and down, pressing the pads more firmly against her until he held her, quite literally, in the palm of his hands. The gentle stroke of his fingertips accompanied by the press if his palm was maddening, and she let out an soft whimper.

His lips smothered the sound, the kiss deeper, hungrier. She had to get closer, might die if she didnt, and moving carefully to keep from dislodging his hand, she all but climbed into his lap, opening the rest of his buttons and pressing herself to his bare chest, fingers locked together behind his neck. 

"Beej . . . oh honey . . . please don't stop."

Her bold move was sexy, and he told her so.

"I like a woman who knows what she wants, beautiful," he murmured, and continued to stroke her through her shorts. "Any chance you'd lose your shirt for me? This is a perfect position for me to . . ."

He pursed his lips before touching the tip of his tongue to the center of his upper lip, and deliberately dropped his gaze to her chest to make his meaning clear. If she pulled her shirt over her head and reached behind herself to unclasp her bra, her hair may move forward to her chest. Then he'd get the pretty picture of blue locks over her tits, like a mermaid--or more realistically, a siren. More practically, it'd shift her away from his crotch for a moment; he'd love a second to readjust himself.

His question, and the following lewd gaze and flicker of his tongue across his lip, made her bite her lip, sore spot be damned. A shiver rippled down her spine, and she was honestly surprised the force of it didn't shake her off his lap.

"God, yes," she breathed. 

Molly was half tempted to make him take it off of her, but she was not about to let him gain his hand back from its position between her thighs. Leaning back a bit, she reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head, revealing a lack of a bra; she rarely wore them much anymore, finding them uncomfortable and confining. The scrap of fabric was tossed aside, her hair spilling over her shoulders in gentle waves like the ocean its color mimicked.

Her hands cradled his head, pressed softly to his cheeks before sliding down his neck, her touch deliberate and slow, as much for him to enjoy as for her. Gently, if a bit insistently, she pushed the suit jacket from his shoulders, helping him shed it entirely before tugging his shirt open. Had she noticed the little silver piercings in his nipples before? Surely not, or she would have felt the same tingle of heat in her belly as she did now, letting her fingertips lightly graze over the metal.

She shrugged out of her shirt and he got a tantalizing glimpse of her tits bouncing before her hair covered them, just as he expected and wanted.

Her hands brushed over his scruff and neck and he groaned at the heat of them, then when she made it to his shoulders and it was clear she wanted his jacket off him, he briefly considered simply making it disappear. But who was he to deny a woman stripping him? So he shifted awkwardly to help facilitate removing it, surging upward from his core and managing to kiss her as she shoved his frayed jacket off his shoulders. As he fell back, leaving it crushed underneath him, he murmured how sweet her mouth was, and reached up to the side of her neck to pull her to him again, for another taste.

While his tongue lapped at hers, the act of getting his arms out of the sleeves meant he had to move his hand off its new favorite spot from between her legs, but that also gave him a moment to rock his hips and realign his cock so it lay slightly more comfortably behind his fly.

He watched her fingers finish popping the chipped buttons on his shirt, and when they discovered and she lightly rubbed his piercings, he jumped.

His eyes flicked to hers before they were drawn back to her hands on his nipples. Mimicking her earlier request, he asked in a breathy moan, "Do that again, baby?"

Would she ever get tired of the way he kissed her? Would each brush of his lips against hers continue to throw sparks, like she were flint, and he steel?

A soft whine left her as the pressure of his hand between her legs disappeared, but the moan he gave her in response to her fingertips on his nipples and his breathless request more than made up for it. She smiled as she thumbed his nipples, stroking back and forth in a steady rhythm, her thumbnail flicking the piercings with every other pass or so. 

"I like it when you moan," she confessed, chancing a glance down to see how the front of his pants seemed to bulge alarmingly. Shifting forward, she pressed her hips to his, a sigh of pleasure escaping at the feeling of him, still confined, rubbing against her through thin cotton. "I like making you moan."

Her hand settled against his cheek; as if magnetized, it always seemed to drift back there, no matter where she placed her hands. 

"Sweetheart," she murmured gently, leaning in to press a kiss between his brows, "please, touch me."

Her fingers, strumming his piercings? It was a good thing she confessed liking to hear him moan, because he had no control over it when she played with them like that. Her mouth would be even better--

That thought was derailed as she adjusted her position in his lap and settled heavily onto his trapped and aching cock. It might have been his imagination, but he would swear he could feel the heat of her pussy through the layers of fabric.

At her request, he licked his lower lip, and when he replied, his voice dropped a measure, making it deep.

"Tell me where and how, baby. You want my mouth on those beautiful tits? Do you want me to lick each and every bit of ink you've got on you? I like this one--" he dragged his fingers up her left thigh, over the permanent words there, "--even though I'm no angel. You want my fingers against your pussy again? You called me up, tell me what you want best."

Her hair brushed against his skin as Molly leaned forward, hands flat on his chest, his nipples hard tips against her palms. 

"I want all of it, Beej. Touch me however, wherever." Her hands slipped lower, over the rounded curve of his belly, the texture of the sparse hair tantalizing. "You've got my consent, honey, you don't have to wait for me to tell you what to do." 

She could feel the phantom trace of his fingers up her thigh, and suddenly wished she had more tattoos, more hidden artwork for him to discover, to trace, to run his tongue over.

"Besides," she added, "I get the feeling that not a lot of people ask you what you want. You're not . . ." Her forehead pressed to his as she sighed, searching for the words. "You're not a genie, I don't want you to have to follow orders." 

Her fingers pushed through his hair, which wasn't stiff or wiry like she had expected, but thick and oddly soft.

Beetlejuice groaned as her hands moved from chest to abdomen and practically purred with her nails on his scalp. His head lolled at the soft massage. The physical touch plus someone who granted him consent? If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

Her forehead on his made her too close to see clearly, but he didn’t need to see to reach further back along her leg, to the swell of her ass. He slipped a finger, then all of them, under the soft elastic of her panties at her upper thigh, and stretching a little further, he managed to dip his finger into her pussy from behind.

The heat of it made him groan.

He licked his lips. He wanted to touch her everywhere, lick every inch of her body, rut into her, fill her with come--then he remembered she’d mentioned never having done any of this before. It didn’t dump ice water on him completely, but he should probably not just fuck her like an animal.

So. Slight change in plans.

“Molly, babydoll . . . granting a demon consent and permission is a dangerous thing,” he told her quietly, “but I’m not going to decline. What I want is for you to lay back on this couch and finger yourself. Show me what you do when you’re touching yourself. Show me how you like it.”

He lifted his hips a little, to both press up into her, exactly where he wanted to be, and to unseat her.

The icy shock of his fingers dipping into the scorching silk of her wetness made her jolt forward, into him, moaning as her head fell to his shoulder, breasts pressed to his bare chest as she buried her face in his neck. Her head didnt remain there for long, lifting when she heard the word "demon." Hadn't he professed to being a ghost?

"So you're a demon?" Her tone was even, without a trace of fear or surprise. She supposed it made sense, with his inhuman features and disdain for celestial beings. Then, a smile broke over her face. "I actually summoned a demon? Holy shit. Is it weird that I feel kind of honored that you answered?"

_tbc . . ._


	4. Chapter 4

A shift of his hips brought her back to task; she was focusing on the entirely wrong part of his statement. Molly licked her lips, feeling both excited and a little nervous, and stood on legs that trembled a little, letting him up before spreading herself out on the couch. She worked her shorts and panties off, kicking them aside before setting one foot on the floor, the other draped across the top of the couch to give him a good view. Then, with a soft sigh, she leaned back into the cushions and let her hand drift between her thighs, her fingers stroking over her lips before sliding between them. 

"Is this . . . okay?"

"Ghost, demon . . . is that the point here, babydoll?"

But before she answered, she took his suggestion and he watched her situate herself back on the couch, away from him. For someone who professed to never have done this before, she draped herself in a very fine way to be on display for him. He couldn't take his eyes off her fingers, dipping dangerously into her pussy as he croaked out,

"That is more than okay. Fuck. Show me how you get yourself off."

She could practically feel his eyes on her, as tactile as a caress, hot and piercing as she circled her clit, her touches light at first, then pressing more firmly. Her eyes wanted to slip shut, lashes fluttering, but she kept them open, not wanting to miss a moment of the wolfish hunger in his stare, his voice low and raspy. Did the sight of her arouse him that much? A thrill of something like pride ran through her, and she smiled, liking the notion that she could be attractive, sexy even.

Her fingers soon began to slip lower, teasing her entrance, gasping a little as she felt just how slick she was. Not once in her life had she ever been this wet, and she told him as much, a shy blush darkening her cheeks. He had barely touched her, yet here she was, the sound of her finger sliding through her slick clearly audible in the room, the sound more prominent as another joined it. The heel of her hand pressed hard to her clit, fingers effortlessly finding that sweet spot within and stroking, pressing, teasing. It felt good, as good as it always did, but she didn't let her pleasure progress. If she was going to come, it would be around his fingers, not hers.

The sight of her pleasuring herself so intimately yet so brazenly while he sat across the cushions from her still have dressed made him groan.

He watched all of her: the way her toes pointed, the tremble in her thighs, her fingers delving into herself so slickly, the tiny bit of sheen on her chest, the blush creeping up her cheeks.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he told her, after swallowing to relieve his dry throat.

His cock throbbed, and he couldn't stand it any longer; he fumbled his fly open and released it, even though he didn't push his trousers completely off. It made him look like a creep, watching a woman pleasure herself while he was more dressed than not, his cock in his hand. but he was well past the point of caring about that.

He stroked himself slowly, his eyes riveted to her pussy again. He timed his hand with hers, and moaned.

Her breath caught in her throat as he praised her, his fingers dipping between his own legs to open his pants, producing himself. Molly groaned low in her throat when she saw him, a hot flush creeping from her chest to her cheeks. 

"Baby," she whispered, echoing his pet name for her, reaching for him with her free hand, "please, closer. Let me touch you."

Her hands physically itched with the need to touch him, the hand between her thighs slowing, hair spread across the couch cushion as she beckoned to him with a crooked finger. Another pearl of blood welled up on her lip, unable to keep her teeth from worrying the spot; it was an old habit of hers, that spot on her lip perpetually scarred from anxious picking and biting.

Beetlejuice grinned at her request, but shook his head.

“Why don’t you come here, babydoll,” he suggested instead. “Crawl right over to me on this couch. That’ll put you in perfect position to give me a little kiss--”

He paused for a millisecond, gesturing with his chin to his cock, still slowly being stroked.

“--right here.”

If she was as inexperienced as she said she was, he didn’t expect, or truly, want much by way of her mouth on his cock. But she’d made her lip bleed again, and that little bit of extra life force would send warm shivers of bliss straight up him if it met the head of his cock. It was too tempting to pass up, and then he silently vowed to do what she asked. She could touch him and he’d touch her, and--

He grinned at his own dirty thoughts as to what would happen then.

Her hand slowed, then stopped, resting on her thigh as she sat back up, pulling her legs together. The idea made her nervous; she didn't have the first clue on how to give a passable blowjob. Porn was one thing, real life was another. His grin, though not reassuring and definitely not gentle, did a little to ease her worry, and she nodded. As if drawn by magnets, she did as he asked, hair spilling around her and brushing his thighs as she lowered herself, blue against the black and white.

Her cheek pressed to the fabric of his trousers, able to feel the tense muscle of his thigh beneath, and sighed. 

"You'll tell me what feels good?" 

Her eyes looked up at him from beneath her lashes and she crawled deeper into his lap. Slowly, hoping she was doing it right, she pressed her lips to the tip of his cock in a soft kiss, relieved when it didn't feel as strange was she feared it would. More kisses followed, trailing down the length of him, the final kiss ending at the knuckles of the hand he grasped himself with.

Her following his instruction and crawling to him, her teal hair spilling over her shoulders and first brushing then spilling over his thighs--that all made him give himself a squeeze that was just a little on this side of painful instead of nice, just to keep from blowing his load right then.

Her soft kisses, made more interesting by the slight abrasiveness of her bitten lip and that tiny bit of blood that made warmth follow where she put her mouth on him, made it very difficult not to simply take the back of her head and give her non-verbal instructions on how to suck his cock while he used his hand to jerk off into her mouth. But she hadn't lied about being new at this, and that'd be the most prickish move ever, if he did.

Instead, he praised her. "That's good, baby--your mouth feels good . . . I'm gonna let you in on a secret, beautiful. Anything you do, sans actual biting, is going to feel amazing. No guy, living or dead, is gonna turn down your pretty lips around his cock.

"You wanna open up a little bit, see how I feel on your tongue?"

His praise made her smile, grateful that was doing something that he liked. Again, rather than speaking out loud, she nodded, lips parting to lick a stripe up the path her lips had taken. She tasted traces of the iron and salt of her own blood, but beneath that was just him, and it wasn't anything she could immediately describe, but she'd be damned if she didn't like it.

"You taste good, honey," she murmured before licking around the head, liking the way the ridges slid against her tongue. Her hands first gripped his thighs, then ventured higher, sliding over his soft stomach and up to give his nipples a teasing flick, eyes darting up to his as her tongue mimicked the motion of her fingers against the head of his cock.

Molly didn't know what she was doing, but his encouragement helped, as did the grounding press of his skin against her palms. 

"Put your hand in my hair," she murmured, wrapping her lips around the head and sucking softly as she pulled back.

Try as he might, he simply could not prevent himself from a little upward jerk as her tongue dragged itself up his shaft, then licked a slow circle around the head of his cock. If he didn’t know better, the word “cocktease” would slip out of his mouth, but he wasn’t sure if she’d understand it was meant as a compliment, so he kept it in his head.

It almost, _almost_ passed his lips as she moved her hands up his stomach and flicked his piercings and she kept eye contact with him. He gave a low moan instead. And her innocent request to hold her hair? His hand was there almost before she finished her sentence, gathering locks of blue into an untidy pile in his fist to keep it away from her face. Some escaped, of course, framing everything--fuck, did she know how fucking gorgeous she looked, her lips wrapped around the head of his cock, her hair messy, her eyes dark as she looked up at him?

Beetlejuice groaned again. “You’re doing so well, babydoll. Your mouth is so hot--take me in a little more? A little more? D-don’t push it--I won’t be able to . . . I won’t be able to last very long--”

Did he just admit it’d been forever since he’d had a beautiful woman suck his dick? He didn’t care. What he did care about was not just coming in her mouth or on her face like a horny teenager. 

Her eyes spoke volumes, big and bright, the honey and emerald a thin ring around the blown pupils. The jerk of his hips didnt frighten her, his moans fanned the tiny, smoldering spark of confidence in her, and the drag of his hands through her hair sent goosebumps rippling down her arms.

Molly did as he asked, so polite despite the strain in his voice and his rather impatient nature. It took her a bit to figure out how to flatten her tongue against her mouth, but she worked him in deeper, careful to avoid triggering her gag reflex. His girth stretched her jaw, but she was able to get most of him inside her mouth regardless, lips wrapped tight and warm around him. Slowly, she slid back up, sucking as she went and lingering on the tip; beads of precum gathered at his slit, and she lapped them up, humming at the taste.

Kisses dripped like rain from her lips over his stomach and the smooth skin around the base of his cock as she gave her jaw a break. 

"I don't mind if you want to come in my mouth," she murmured, glancing up at him. "Just . . . don't choke me? Not with your dick, anyway."

She was a quick learner. He wanted to watch, but as she slowly took him in, his head lolled and he groaned. He didn't presume to set any kind of pace, but did pull her hair a bit as she came back up.

He managed to look at her again as her tongue lapped at the tip of his cock. Licks were different than suction, but not unwelcome.

Her kisses to his belly were nice too. He did use her grip on her hair to keep her head up to look at him.

"Is your mouth my only option, babydoll?" he asked with a smirk. Then the rest of her sentences found purchase in his brain and he cocked his head as he looked at her. "But . . . choking?"

"Not the _only_ option, no." Licking her lips, she moved back, his fingers falling from her hair as she sat back on her heels, tousled waves falling back around her shoulders. "I'm flexible and open to suggestions." 

A smirk touched her mouth, flirty and playful, feeling bold and oddly relaxed around him, as if they had known each other for more than the hour or so he'd been in her home.

Nodding, she took his hand in both of hers, noting the black of his nails, the long and somehow delicate looking fingers, the smooth back, the lined palm. 

"I happen to think you have very attractive hands," she confessed, her lips still curled in a soft smile. "And I think I'd like to feel them around my neck. Not hard, just a little pressure." 

She lifted her eyebrow, pulling his hand to rest palm down just below her collarbones. "Like I said, dangerous or not, you have my consent."

Her sudden boldness surprised and delighted him. He watched her examine his hand, and didn’t stop her from placing it on her throat, but he didn’t tighten it at all. He felt her swallow.

“You say dangerous or not, but you also weren’t expecting something like me to arrive,” he told her quietly, his eyes flicking from her throat, passed her parted lips, to meet her gaze. “Choking is much better done here.”

He slid his hand up so the crook between his thumb and first finger were tight under her jaw, while his other digits wrapped the side of her neck. He felt her swallow again, more quickly this time, and her tongue wet her lips.

He left his hand in place for a moment, to see if she had second thoughts. When she didn’t, he did.

Releasing her throat, he shook his head. “Sorry, babydoll. No breathplay on the first date.”

It’d be some time before he’d tell her about his reluctance for it, if ever.

“I hope this isn’t too much a consolation prize,” he told her, “but I was really hoping to fuck you. If that suits?”

Offhandedly, Molly wondered if he could hear the way her heart began to race when his hand wrapped around her throat; she liked the fit, liked the pressure, but what didn't care for was the faraway look in his eyes, as if reliving a bad memory. She nodded in understanding when he let go of her neck, leaning forward to kiss him gently. 

"No problem, sugar, just a suggestion."

Molly got to her feet and stretched, legs a little cramped from. being confined to the couch, and reached for his hands, pulling him to stand with her. Pushing the suspenders from his shoulders, a quick couple of tugs at his shirt and pants left him equally naked before her, her hands sliding up his torso. 

"That's what I want," she murmured, her body pressing flush to his. "I want you, Beej, in whatever way you'll let me have you."

Her hands took his, pulling him down the short hallway to her bedroom, the air inside scented with the smoky perfume of incense, the bed piled high with soft pillows in shades of green and purple. A Gordian knot of equal parts nerves and excitement twisted in her stomach, and she embraced him, arms around his middle, her hips pressed to his as her head fell back, looking up at him. 

"Where do we start?"

He'd have played off the sudden eruption of goosebumps as chill when she stripped him, but he was room temperature to begin with. He followed along eagerly as she took him to her bedroom. When she stepped up against him, so warm, he smiled down at her.

"Where do we start? Baby girl, this is well past the beginning," he teased, dipping to kiss her lightly on the lips. "But I have some ideas."

He looked over the room, weighing options in his mind, before turning his amber eyes back to her. He twirled a little of her hair between his fingers.

"I'd really love to see you on your back, with this gorgeous hair spread out around you," he murmured, lifting a lock to smell it. "But this is your first time? I think I'm gonna prefer you on top of me, and I'll have to make do with your hair just spilled down your front and watching your tits bounce as you ride me. You get to be in control. Set the pace. It'd be best for you."

Molly paused, a tingle running across her skin as he twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. 

"Thank you," she said suddenly, lifting her hands to cradle his face, thumbs rasping against his stubble. "This entire time, you've been so careful about going easy on me since this is my first time, and I . . . I really appreciate that. It means a lot to me." 

Her lips lingered against his perhaps a second too long, the kiss sweet and gentle, before she pulled back, dropping her hands.

"Hop on," she said with a lopsided smile, gesturing toward the bed. "You can always put me on my back the next round, sweetheart."

_tbc . . ._


	5. Chapter 5

It was odd to see someone else in her bed, but God, was it nice. When he was settled, she crawled up into the bed, straddling his hips, his cock trapped between the slick heat of her cunt and his stomach. Her breath caught as her hips gave an experimental roll, her hands braced on his chest, her hazel pinned to his amber. With a bit of adjusting, her hand wrapped around him, holding him at her entrance and slipping him inside. 

"Oh _fuck,"_ she cursed lowly, her walls stretching to accommodate him, wishing she had pushed more than just one finger into herself earlier. It didn't hurt, but there was a burning that bordered on uncomfortable. Slowly, adjusting with each rock of her hips, she edged him all the way inside, nearly whimpering in pleasure at the sensation of being so full of him. "Shit, you feel so good . . . "

Watching a woman crawl up him was a sight he'd never tire of. Holding on to her thighs, his cock in her hand while she was up on her knees hovering above him was another snapshot saved in his mind's eye, but that mental camera began short-circuiting out as she settled lowly down onto him and his cock eased into the tight heat of her pussy.

"Easy baby," he cooed, seeing a flicker of uncertainty and possible discomfort on her face. "Just go slow, it feels so good, your pussy feels so good--fuck, do you realize how fucking amazing you look? How'd I get so lucky? Oh fuck--"

He had to close his eyes for a moment as her pelvis met his. She knew that the grip of her pussy and the clench and release of it around his cock was going to be enough to make him come right now, didn't she? He had to concentrate on something else, or he was going to explode right in her, and coming before she was even fully comfortable was going to be both disappointing for her and embarrassing for him.

Still, he cranked open his eyes to look up at her again. She looked like a true siren now, superior on him, her hair falling over her tits, her lips shiny and parted with the most enticing moan escaping her.

He reached up and gave one nipple a pinch before stretching further to push some of her hair away from her cheek.

"Molly, baby," he said, a bit of a needy whine flavoring his words, "when you're ready, when you feel comfortable, I want you to fuck me."

The added stimulation of his deft fingers pinching her nipple made her hiss between her teeth, able to feel the sudden tense of her inner walls around him. He was cooler than her, but warmed quickly, so thick and pressing deliciously against her insides. The need in his voice didn’t escape her, and neither did the way his eyes threw sparks, so intense and burning Molly swore she could almost see the amber flickering, like flames behind tempered glass.

It didn't take long for the burning to subside, and she grinned, leaning over him as her hips rolled, the movement so natural. 

"Like this?" 

He was transparent as glass, his moans rewarding her efforts. Her lips found his, starting with a languid pace; there was no need to rush this.

The tips of her hair tickled his chest and cheeks as she leaned over him, taking his hand and pressing it into the mattress beside his head, her fingers laced with his. Her tongue and hips rolled in synchronization, lazy and indulgent. 

"You feel amazing," she whispered against his lips.

"You're a fucking _goddess,"_ Beetlejuice groaned, before her mouth pressed on his.

Her movements were slow and steady, just as he'd suggested, as she got used to the feeling of a cock inside her. She held still when she'd taken him in completely, then rose up by just using her core until he hissed with worry that he'd slip out of her and lose that delicious wet heat of her pussy.

He wanted fast and hard, that's what he'd come to expect the rare times he was called. This was more deliberate, more sensual, and by god or satan it was more than he thought he could take.

His hand rested on the words _cosnaíonn na haingil_ inked into her thigh, squeezing in time with her gentle thrusting. It amused him that a demon like him was fucking such a woman as her. Where were her angels now?

She liked kissing while she moved. It was good he didn't need to breathe; he was able to suck at her tongue and softly nip at her lower lip that she'd broken open twice in his presence tonight.

Not being able to use his mouth didn't stop him from whispering to her,

"You're a succubus, babydoll--your cunt is so tight and sweet, it feels so good around my cock, fuck-fuck-fuck me, oh fuck--"

Bliss surged through him, and suddenly he was teetering over the edge of an orgasm.

His hand tightened exponentially on her leg and he extracted his mouth from hers.

"Stop-stop! I'm gonna come--baby, stop, please--!"

Her lips curled in a smile against his at the praise, her thigh nearly buzzing under his palm, as if the words of her tattoo were vibrating beneath her skin. It all felt so _good,_ so gentle and slow, as if nothing in the world existed but the two of them. Even the slight pain of his teeth scraping the open spot on her lip seemed muted, just a dash of salt against the sweet.

Even with his lips glued to hers, he whispered in her ear; she was practically able to feel his tickling breath. Every word he spoke sent a frisson of heat down her spine, her hand tightening around his, and she almost didn't register the way his fingers squeezed her thigh, sinking into her flesh. Then his lips tore away from her, practically begged her to stop, and she did, practically screeching to a halt as she stilled over him, afraid she had done something wrong.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, are you okay?" Her hand cupped his cheek, studying his face as if looking for signs of anger. "Do you need me to get off of you?"

He gritted his teeth and lay as still as possible under her, even though his instinct was to keep going, keep that sweet friction mounting. He wanted to rut into her, he wanted to let the rush of pleasure consume him.

He also wanted to let all this linger. A soft bed and a gorgeous woman atop him was more than he'd had in a long time, and in the back of his mind, a twittering voice reminded him she was going to send him away once she used him.

"No, I'm good, I'm good," he groaned tightly. "I don't want you to get off me--I mean, I want you to get off, but not, you know? I just . . . fuck . . . I was just going to come and . . . I needed a break."

He managed to open his eyes again to hers.

"You're too good, baby," he praised. "I don't want to come in you if you don't want, and I want you to feel good. So tell me what you want."

It calmed her a bit when he assured her he wasn't upset or in pain, and she settled down on his chest, trying to keep her lower half as still as possible. 

"Take as much time as you need, honey, I'm in no rush." The backs of her fingers strummed against his cheek, kiss-swollen lips curled in a cheeky smile. "It’s nice to know it’s that good for you and that I'm not some boring virgin."

For a moment, she gave his request thought, idly stroking her fingers through his hair. 

"I think I want you to come inside of me. I got an IUD put in a few years ago, so you shouldn't be able to knock me up. _Can_ you knock me up?" 

He didn't actually have an answer to her question, but with an IUD, there was no chance of finding out anyway. He was grateful she stopped and let him have a moment, and after the pleasure had slowed to a constant buzz instead of one ratcheting higher and higher, he gave her a smile.

Her hair bounced as she shook her head, getting easily distracted from the task at hand.

"Let me know when you're ready for me to start again, sugar. I love how you feel inside me, it's so fucking good . . ." Still lying over his chest, her lips pressed to the hollow of his throat, lazily trailing up his neck. "I'd really like for you to play with my tits a little, honey." 

Molly sat up a bit, giving him better access to her chest, her hands reaching to grab his and place them just above her breasts.

He liked the new position she'd taken, sitting up. It angled him differently inside her, and showcased her tits. He reached to them, cupping them as she asked, before rolling each nipple to hard peaks between his thumb and first finger.

"I don't know how long I'll last, baby, but fuck me again, like you were," he asked. "Roll your hips--it's fucking divine."

Although she'd asked, he let one tit go. Her more upright position gave him a new opportunity, and he licked his fingertips, and slipped them to her clit.

While she missed being close enough to kiss him, sitting up with one hand braced behind her on his thigh had its advantages, one being a shift in angle that let the head of his cock rub against her g-spot, and she let out a near purr at the sensation, his fingertips plucking her nipples.

"Oh fuck," she breathed, that first roll of her hips making stars shoot across her vision, quickly resuming her earlier pace. 

Molly was nearly disappointed when one of his hands dropped from her chest, but at the sight of his tongue dragging across his fingertips and the slick rub of them against her clit, she keened, head thrown back in pleasure. 

_"Shit,_ oh, right there, sweetheart, right fucking _there."_

Her hips swiveled, pivoting over his, kittenish mewls of pleasure filling the air. Warmth pooled low in her pelvis, rising and rising, the breath stolen out of her lungs. 

"Beej, _fuck,_ don't stop, I'm gonna come . . ."

There were many things to concentrate on: her heavy breast in one hand, rubbing with increasing intensity the nub of her clit, her back arching as she rocked over him, her voice alternating between praise and moans. All that, plus the hot friction she created as she fucked him made the pleasure burst in his gut. He had no reserves to talk to her.

He'd have held out longer--he wanted to hold out longer!--but her pussy was too tight for him to resist. With an entire tensing of his middle and legs, he pushed up into her and groaned through clenched teeth as he came.

His body tensed, arched, and he groaned deep as something burst within her, her walls coated with sticky release. The sound of his orgasm alone was enough to tip her into hers, but experiencing firsthand the warm spurts of his cock inside her wrenched a near scream from her, bearing down hard as her orgasm slammed into her. Taut as a wire, her entire body shook, clenched, then released as the blinding pleasure faded, leaving her draped limp and trembling over his chest.

She didn't want to move, didn't want to slide him out of her, and she never dreamed she'd like the feeling of their combined fluids leaking out around him. 

"Holy shit," she muttered, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself close to him, needing that contact, desperate to feel grounded. "Did the Earth move? I think the Earth moved."

The sensation of her pussy clenching and unclenching around his cock kept pleasure rippling through him. Watching her come apart, her body arched above him in a beautiful display of ecstasy made him smile and groan at the same time.

When she collapsed on his chest, he pushed the hair off her sweaty forehead and cheeks and kissed her at her hairline. The heat of her soaked into his bones, and he felt sated.

He chuckled at her awe.

"That was all you, babydoll," he told her. "I didn't do much of anything. But--"

He paused to cup her chin and have her look at him.

"--that doesn't mean I _can't._ You want some more, beautiful? Or would you just prefer to relax and sleep after the workout you just had?"

The gentle kiss just below her hairline made her scalp prickle, and she smiled, her embrace tightening a fraction. Pleasure and passion aside, this was what she wanted most from sex. The afterglow. The calming of hurried breath and gentle kisses pressed to sweaty skin, lying tangled and satisfied.

He grabbed her chin, his voice low, nearly a purr as he asked to go again, asked if _she'd_ like to go again. Molly smiled, nodding as best she could with her chin in his grasp.

"More, definitely. We can sleep later."

He grinned and lifted his head so he could stretch towards her and kiss her.

"That's my good girl. Now, I want to taste your pussy properly. Lay back, and get comfortable."

By now, she was expecting his kiss to send a shiver of warmth through her, gentle and sweet. What she was _not_ expecting was the searing heat that spread across her cheeks and pooled in her belly when he called her _his good girl._ This was certainly a night of discovery.

She did as he instructed, slipping off of him to lie down in her bed, propping herself up on a mountain of pillows and settling in, hair falling across the pillow around her head. She couldn't tell where the residual trembling from her first orgasm stopped and the anticipatory shaking to feel his mouth on her began.

He loved that she was so uninhibited that she simply agreed to his request. She lounged before him like this was what she deserved, and by gods, she did.

Similar to what she'd graced him with earlier, he righted himself and crawled towards her on all fours to settle between her spread thighs. Her hands reached for him and he allowed her to grab him by the scruff on his cheeks to pull him in for a kiss, but he ached to have his tongue between a different set of lips so he shook her off and grinned up at her as he sunk to his chest on the mattress.

There was wet smeared between her inner thighs and he spent a moment licking it off one, then the other, before looking up her body at her. With a raised eyebrow and a smirk, he lowered his mouth to her pussy and dragged his tongue through her folds.

The combined taste of her and his come that had leaked out of her made him groan in appreciation, and he licked her again, and again, coating his tongue, lips and chin in the flavor. 

The kiss was grounding, a brief touch of lips to lips before he ventured down her body, the sight of him on all fours above her igniting some long-buried primal instinct to spread herself prone for him.

The brush of his tongue, soft as could be, on her inner thighs, made her shiver and whimper longingly, his mouth so close to where she wanted it. His gaze burned up at her, mouth open and grinning when he finally-- _finally!--_ licked through her folds.

Her hands slid into his hair, not pulling or guiding just yet, needing to touch some part of him while his devilish tongue lapped up the pool of their combined fluids. Her hips arched instinctively toward his mouth, seeking pleasure, seeking him, lifting one leg to rest over his shoulder. 

"Oh god, Beej, fuck . . . "

Her moans, her hands in his hair, and her lifting a leg to allow him more access was all the permission he needed. He'd let her fuck her as slow and deliberate as she wanted or needed, but now--

He shoved his face into her pussy harder, the tip of his tongue slipping upwards to find her clit in her folds. He lapped softly at the bundle of nerves, then nuzzled in further to capture it between his lips to apply a little more pressure to it.

As he did, he lifted himself up just a little so one arm could fit between his chest and the mattress, and with no resistance in her at all, he dipped two fingers back into her, knuckle deep.

Tossing his voice near her ear while his mouth was occupied, he whispered,

"Is two good, baby girl? Or would three fingers fill you up better?"

There was no slow, easy pace now, no easing her into it; her fingers tightened in his hair, somehow feeling both overwhelmed and desperate for more as his tongue lapped over her clit, his stubble scratching deliciously at her thighs and tickling her folds. Her body writhed underneath him-she couldn't help it, left sensitive from her last orgasm, it simply felt too good to stay still.

"Three," she whispered, trying not to tug too hard on his hair as he buried himself deeper between her thighs. 

She was quickly falling in love with the feeling of him filling her up, stretching her, rubbing along her inner walls, and she rolled her hips up as if to beckon him deeper, inviting another finger. 

"Please, please, honey, please."

"Three it is, baby," Beetlejuice chuckled in her ear, and slipped the requested digit into her. Her wet and his residual come made a passable lube.

It made her pussy that much tighter and he crooked his fingers slightly, dragging them, pads up, along her inner walls until he found a spot that made her buck just a little bit harder against him. He kept them there, and applied steady pressure.

Her hands in his hair and their insistence he bury his face as far into her pussy as possible made him smile, and he sucked and lavished attention on her clit. He moaned too, caught up in her pushing against him, her moans, her obvious pleasure. 

He was going to drive her absolutely crazy, his fingers three wide and slipping into her without a single ounce of resistance, as if her body were welcoming him home. Molly expected him to drive his fingers mercilessly into her, but they bent, pressing against that spot that made her toes curl, and remained there, maddeningly still. She bucked up into his mouth, rolled against his fingers, slivers of green just barely visible above the startling whites of her eyes. 

A string of curses left her, muttered in an unbroken babble as he worried her clit with his mouth, alternating between licks, sucks, and nibbles. There was no question whether or not he was enjoying himself as well; she could feel as well as hear each moan he uttered against her, the sound seemingly transmitted along her flesh. Had he broken free to breathe once? 

Her orgasm hit her without warning; she couldn’t have held it off if she’d tried, and she had no breath to notify him. Her throat locked in a silent scream, not a single sound escaping her as her body jack-knifed, sitting straight up as her thighs clamped around his head. Everything except the continuing press of his fingers and the ceaseless lapping of his tongue was erased; sounds were muted, the world around her dissolving into blurs of faded color. At last she collapsed against the bed, shaking all over, breasts heaving as she panted, hair an absolute mess as it fanned across the pillows.

The sharp movements of her body could've dislodged him, but he held himself pressed in tight with his free hand wrapped under her thigh. Her voice, once so full of dirty words, gasps and moans, was gone, and her thighs suddenly locked around his head, keeping exactly where he was, exactly where he wanted to be.

He continued to move his tongue softly against her clit as her pussy clenched his fingers, and only when the muscles slowed their rhythmic contractions and she was able to loosen her legs did he slip his digits out of her. There was a small pool of her wet in his palm, and he grinned as he gave her one last quick kiss on her clit.

As he pushed himself back into an upright position with her splayed before him, he licked his hand clean of her, even though his scruff was wet with it too.

"Sorry. Made a mess of your blanket, baby girl," he said. "Should've put a towel down. What I'm _not_ sorry for, however, is spoiling you for any breathers. Unlike yours truly, they're gonna have to take a breath every once in a while."

What goes up must come down, and so she did, the world fading back into focus around her. His voice was soothing, though it took a couple of seconds to actually process what he was saying; she was too focused on his tongue lapping her slick off his hand like the juices of an exotic fruit. 

She smiled, shaking her head. "I'll throw them in the wash when I can use my legs again. Christ, you're good at that."

Her hands opened and closed as she reached for him, like a toddler demanding her favorite toy, and pulled him down to lie on top of her, his head on her chest. She'd get up and change the sheets eventually, but she wanted this first, wanted his weight and his accumulated warmth to ground her weightless soul to her body. 

"Ironic, when a demon's mouth makes you see God. Someone call Alanis Morissette." Her hands stroked through his hair as she laughed breathlessly, indulging in another's presence while it lasted.

He gave her a lopsided smirk at her praise, and didn't let himself preen too much. She'd admitted she didn't have experience, after all.

After a little bit of silence, letting her breath and heart rate go back to normal, she looked down at him, her fingers still petting his hair, which was somehow more tousled and wild than before. 

"Do you need clothes to sleep in, honey? I might have some some sweats that could fit you."

He fully accepted her pulling him back onto her chest. It was his favorite bit afterward, listening to a breather's heart work, and lungs fill expand and contract, and even gut noises, if his ear was on someone's belly. It soothed him. There was nothing but stillness inside him; it was nice when a partner allowed him to pretend what he heard was his too.

His fingers found and traced the lines of her ink as she stroked his hair. He could drift here a long time.

She asked him if he needed something to sleep in, however, and that surprised him. He hadn't expected to spend any more time here; he was used to being called, fulfilling a task, and being sent away. To be offered sleepwear . . .

"I, uh . . ." He found his throat suddenly dry. ". . . I . . . yes? That'd be nice?"

The stutter and hesitation gave her heart a twinge; did he expect her to send him away so soon? As long as he wanted to be here, he was welcome, and if she was being honest, she was hoping he would stay for a while. Sex aside, he was rapidly growing on her, and she liked being around him, liked the way she felt around him.

Molly brushed a soft kiss across his forehead, then gently worked her way out from underneath him, having to lean on her night table to push herself upright on legs that still trembled. 

"I'm gonna clean up in the bathroom real quick, then you can go clean up and change while I throw the sheets in the wash." 

She gave him a fond smile before leaving the bedroom, cleaning herself with a warm cloth before brushing out her hair and pulling it back into a ponytail.

Back in her bedroom, she rummaged through the dresser, holding out articles of clothing at random and stuffing them back in the drawers until she had a pair of black sweatpants slung over her arm. 

"These should fit. I don't have a shirt for you though, you're a little more broad in the chest than I am." Laying the pants on his lap, she stroked her fingers down his cheek. "I can order you some shirts tomorrow if you want some to sleep in."

He accepted the pants and hated that his fingers trembled as he did.

“These might be too warm for me, baby. Might have to chuck them in the middle of the night, and then you’re stuck with a naked specter in your bed,” he joked, to cover his shake and to hopefully help hide the fact he was more than eager to take them.

Without waiting for her to reply, he shuffled off in the direction of she’d taken for the bathroom.

"Oh no," she moaned in mock horror, "a naked ghost in my bed? What shall become of my maiden virtue?" 

Once there with the door closed, he nosed through her cabinets and toiletries without much shame. He knew she expected him to wash, and did the bare minimum--face and crotch--before pulling the offered sweatpants on. They were soft and he wasn’t sure if he liked the elastic around his ankles. He’d suffered through worse, however,

He returned to the bedroom, where Molly was finishing remaking her bed. Slipping up behind her and wrapping his hands low on her hips, he first shoved his face into her ponytail, smelling her hair, before kissing her on the exposed nape of her neck.

“Blue looks much better on you than me,” he murmured. 

Molly laughed as he retreated to the bathroom to change, tearing the sheets from the bed and tossing them into the wash. A soft smile stayed present on her face as she worked, bringing down extra pillows from her closet and spreading new sheets on the bed.

For as long as she had lived alone, it surprised her that his grasp on her hips from behind didn't startle her. Rather, she leaned back against him, tugging his hands tighter around her midsection, laying her head to the side to further expose her neck.

"Its funny you should say that. I've been thinking of dyeing it green."

"I'm partial to green myself," he admitted, with a chuckle, looking upward as if to see his own hair. "You look tired, babydoll. Let's lay down . . . summoning and then fucking a demon would exhaust anyone."

Her body turned in his arms, her hands lifting to stroke through his hair. 

"Does your hair turn blue? Mm . . . must save you a fortune in hair dye," she murmured, starting to drift off. "So what does green mean? Happy? I thought I saw it pink in it earlier. Is that a demon thing?" 

Despite the late hour and the pull of sleep on her body, she remained as full of questions as ever, curious to a fault.

He hummed in appreciation as she exposed more of her neck to him, but didn't protest as she twisted to face him.

As he settled her beside him with an arm under her neck, he quietly answered her question.

"It's a me thing, baby. A blessing and a curse, you know? I don't wear my heart on my sleeve . . . one, I don't have one, and two, my hair takes care of it for me."

She was tired; she didn't realize how much until he pulled her down into the bed, tucking his arm beneath her. Molly pressed against him and slipped her arm around his middle, her head pillowed on his bare chest as she wound her legs around his. God, it felt nice to curl up with someone.

Her fingers curled in idle patterns against his side, snuggling closer to him, undisturbed by his lack of heartbeat or respiration. He was still, peaceful, cool against her cheek. If he answered, she didn't hear, physical and emotional exhaustion dragging her into soothing, dreamless sleep, her new lover wrapped safe in her arms.

He watched as she fell asleep. It astounded him that a breather he'd just met trusted him enough to simply drift away in his presence.

He stayed with her for most of the night, listening to her breathe and basking in her warmth. Towards morning, however, he slipped out of her bed. He wanted to know more about someone who actively chose to separate herself from people, when his driving goal was to be noticed and seen.

Beetlejuice crept out of her bedroom and went to her kitchen, fully intending on digging through her things.

The night passed with hardly a stir, Molly fully knocked out by their amorous activities; at dawn, when Beetlejuice left her arms, she sighed in her sleep and snuggled against the pillows he'd been lying on, burrowing closer to his scent.

When she woke, the sun had risen, pouring golden light into her bedroom. Her hand slid across the rumpled sheets and found her bed empty, with only a clear indent of another body to prove he had been there. Her brow furrowed as she sat up, worried for a moment that he had left in the night, but then she heard footsteps and rattling come from the vicinity of her kitchen, and felt more at ease. He did seem the type to snoop.

She let him indulge his curiosity a little longer as she took a shower. Music rang from the tiles, and it took her a moment to realize that it was her. She was singing. When was the last time she had done that? 

A grin spread on her face as she dried off, wrapping herself in a towel. Some coffee was definitely in order, she thought as she entered her bedroom . . . and _screamed_ at the intruder sitting on her bed.

_tbc . . ._


	6. Chapter 6

It had been so long since he’d had a corporeal form in the human realm, he had almost forgotten what sunlight-- _real_ sunlight--felt like. It was . . . nice. Warm. 

Dewey rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, nose wrinkling at the smell of demon saturating her sheets. He had hoped she wouldn’t go through with it, hoped he could influence her to see reason and say no, but her loneliness was too strong, too loud. He had nearly cursed aloud when she led the infernal spirit to her bed; becoming corporeal, unless a subject’s life was in immediate danger, was impossible, and required snipping through a bog of bureaucratic red tape. If he had known being a guardian angel came with so many regulations, he would have just stayed dead.

But looking after her had almost made it worth it. Molly was slotted for tragedy and heartache in her life, and he had walked beside her for every step of it. Dewey had kept her alive, kept her safe, out of harm’s way, and in the process, she had grown on him. 

But this . . . this, he couldn’t save her from. His charge was corrupted, her soul stained with a demon’s mark. And now that he had physical form, he could speak to her, make her see sense . . . or at least bodily remove her from harm.

She walked into the bedroom, smelling of warmth and fresh roses, and he smiled. “It’s good to hear you sing again, Molly.”

He wasn’t expecting her to scream. _Shit._

⁂

So far he'd found an interesting collection of random bones and a book that gave off a heavy vibe that warned him off. Beetlejuice stared out her kitchen window at the extensive gardens outside her house, and wondered if she'd think him odd to want to walk through it.

His ear caught her singing over the sound of the shower running, and he thought to surprise her by stepping into her bathroom before she got out, but the water shut off before he made it back through the house.

With his hand on her bedroom door, he stopped short at the bright aura moving in ripples coming from inside.

He peeked in, and his eyes narrowed as he felt tendrils of red work their way into his hair.

A fucking angel was in her room?

⁂

She shrunk back, squeezed between the dresser and the wall, a death grip on her towel to keep it from falling as she froze. He . . . he had _wings._ Large, snow-white wings that were now folded snugly against his back. She was hallucinating. _Had_ to be. She blinked. They didn’t disappear.

“Wh-Who the fuck are you? Get out!”

Through the haze of fear and shock, Molly could see his lips move and heard the sound of speech, but wasn’t quite able to process what he was saying to her. With a jolt, she remembered her other guest, and prayed he was close enough to hear her. She called his name once, only once.

⁂

How _frustrating._ Summoning a demon into her home had impressed and fascinated her, but an angel in her bedroom caused her to scream in terror? Dewey could have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t concerned with calming her down. 

“Just take a breath and let me explain, Molly, please?”

Instead, she yelled her lover’s name, and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had hoped the two of them could talk without getting the demon involved, but he supposed everything else was going sideways, so why not this?

There was never a good time to deal with celestial beings, but Beetlejuice wasn't going to let Molly deal with this on her own, especially since she used his full name. If he didn't go in, she might mindlessly repeat it twice more and then where would he be? Plus, she'd called him accidentally; how did he know she didn't call this angel as well?

With a sigh, Beetlejuice walked into her bedroom with as much confidence as he could gather wearing women's sweatpants.

"Hey babe, good morning," he said brightly, as if seeing an angel in her bedroom was a common occurrence. 

When the angel's wings spread a little bit, in a show of intimidation, he finally deigned to give him a look. Granted, he didn't make a habit of hanging around with celestials, but this angel, despite his wings, didn't look anything like he expected. Where were the shining robes? The aura of brightness, from standing so close to God? This guy didn't look like that _at all._ He was only moderately tall, with messy hair, and wearing a sweater vest? Beetlejuice wrinkled his nose. 

"Didn't anyone ever tell you just appearing in a woman's bedroom was incredibly rude? What do they teach you, up in angel school?"

Immediately upon the demon's entrance, he bristled, wings expanding as much as they could within the confines of her room. "What, was I supposed to wait around out there to make pleasant conversation with _you?_ I'm here to speak to _her."_

As soon as Beetlejuice stepped into her room, Molly moved closer to him, eyeing her new visitor with a distrustful eye. Beej didn't seem too worried at his appearance, and that set her a little more at ease. Until he said the word "angel."

"Wait . . . so . . . he's really an _angel?"_ Her brows knit together, still a bit shaky from the initial shock and more confused than she could ever remember being. "Like, wings and halos, 'be not afraid,' actual _angel?"_

Suddenly, Molly remembered what Beej had said last night about summoning a celestial. "Did . . . Did I do this?"

When his eyes turned to Molly, he softened, holding both hands up in a display of peace. 

"Yes, Molly, I'm a real angel. _Your_ angel, actually." For the first time since she had entered the room, he looked a bit sheepish, ruffling a hand through his messy brown hair. 

"I'm...well, I'm kind of what you'd call . . . a _guardian_ angel," he explained further. "To be specific, I'm your guardian angel. And I'm here because _this,"_ he nearly hissed, eyes narrowed as he pointed at the demon, "is a bad idea. I can't stress enough how bad an idea this is."

Beetlejuice slipped an arm around Molly's waist as she came near him, subtly laying claim that he knew didn't go unnoticed. In fact, it was probably the reason the angel's voice became a hiss, instead of staying smooth. He smirked.

"I thought guardian angels were young things. Kinda . . . " he paused and pursed his lips, as if trying to think of the term. " . . . like probationary angels? Like, not quite good enough to make it as real angels, kissing God's feet or whatever. Baby angels! Is that true? Do you have to meet some kind of quota and then you get promoted?

An _angel._ A real angel. Not just any run of the mill messenger of God, but her own personal guardian angel. Molly stepped out of the protective arm slung around her waist, stepping forward a bit as if to get a better look at him. She was nearly at eye level with him, and she was realizing now that aside from the wings and faint golden corona, he seemed very human. 

Her hands shook as they fell by her sides, but not with fear or shock; the clench in her jaw and the sudden narrowing of her eyes gave away that they were shaking with rage.

_”How fucking dare you.”_

Her tone was low and venomous; the angel looked shocked, but she didn’t give him time to reply or explain. 

“You mean to tell me you’ve been here this _entire_ time, and you’ve just stood by and let all that shit happen?! What the fuck kind of guardian _does_ that?! Where were you when my family died? Where were you when I was on my own for four years? Were you just sitting back and watching each time I tried to take my life? _Where were you when Rebecca died?_ Did it matter at all to you how heartbroken I was? What use are you if you can’t keep me from hurting?!” 

Her hands were clenched into tight fists at her side, her entire body rigid and practically thrumming with anger. 

“You’re a piss-poor excuse for an angel,” she said, her tone lower but no less sharp. ”Get out of my house. _I don’t want you here.”_

Oh, if it wouldn’t have cost him his wings, he would have taken a swing at that smug, grinning bastard, just to wipe that smirk off his face. Hell, he still might have, if Molly hadn’t turned her wrath onto him. Dewey had been expecting it, but if he was being honest, it didn’t make her anger sting any less. He stood there and took it, looking rightfully guilty, wings folded meekly against his back. 

“Sweetheart,” he started, wanting so badly to take her hands but not quite daring to, “I’m sorry. If I could have spared you all of that, I would, but my hands were tied. As long as _your_ life wasn’t in immediate danger, I couldn’t do anything. But I promise you, I was there.” 

He came closer, eyes wide and warm and earnest. “Why do you think you decided to go for a walk that day? Do you think it was an accident that each suicide attempt failed? I was there at your side the whole time. It _gutted_ me, having to watch you suffer and knowing I couldn’t help you through it, couldn’t have done anything to help. But . . . there’s a higher plan. An order for everything. 

“Which is why I’m here now.” 

Again, he sent a pointed look toward the demon. “Molly, do you have any idea how dangerous he is? I can’t take corporeal form for anything less than immediate danger of death or corruption, and you’re so close to losing your soul.” 

Her mouth opened as if to ask a question, but he held up a hand to stop her. 

“Summoning a demon is one thing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it’s accidental, and the demon runs off to be someone else’s problem. Keeping the demon around? _Consorting_ with it? That’s another matter.” 

Dewey turned his attention away from his charge, eyes narrowed as he addressed Beetlejuice. “Why are you still here? Hoping for one more lay before you hit the road?” 

Her anger first startled, then amused him to no end. Most people were awed when they first encountered angels; celestials liked to dazzle. He wished he could just sit down and watch the show; this was prime reality TV right here. 

But when this uppity angel took a step forward, right into her personal space where the rage was the strongest, Beetlejuice stepped back towards her too. She'd shaken him off, yes, and he was still only wearing sweatpants--he really should just get back into his suit, but didn't want to risk a moment's distraction--but it was obvious the angel wanted nothing more than to take Molly's hands and probably _hug_ her, and that was not going to happen with him around. 

His eyes flashed a deeper amber as accusations flew from the celestial's mouth. 

"She has a point," he spit back. "You were pretty hand's off, it sounds like, and now you waltz in like you're some knight in shining armor? Molly wanted _company,_ which if I'm understanding correctly, you knew and did absolutely nothing about!" 

The angel retorted the same drivel about "his hands being tied", and he spoke over him, addressing Molly directly. 

"See the difference between us, baby? Demons are straight forward. Angels fucking "watch over you", which basically means _spying."_ He flicked a poisonous glance back at the winged being. "Don't deny you weren't watching us last night, or you wouldn't have asked me about 'one more lay'. Were you rubbing one out, watching us like your own private porn? You're jealous! You wished you'd had the balls to come down here and actually spend physical time with your charge!" 

He hated to admit it, but the demon’s words stung. He _was_ jealous. He had spent years wishing he could hold her, could stroke the tears from her cheek, could offer her any kind of comfort or support. It was forbidden, taboo, and in very bad taste, but he had also entertained less innocent thoughts about her. How her lips would feel. How soft her hair would be against his bare skin. And seeing that demon touch her? Kiss her? Stain her body? It was almost more than he could bear. 

“I _couldn’t_ watch,” he spat, his wings ruffling irritably, his cheeks reddening. “I couldn’t stand the sight of you pawing at her.” 

He turned to Molly, who seemed shrunken in on herself, as if folding beneath the emotional weight of the situation. “I . . . I’m not always watching. I’ve never . . . _seen_ anything you wouldn’t want me to see.” 

That was a bit of a bend in the rules; angels were supposed to be by their charges' sides at all times, supposed to be above human urges like lust or longing, above such silly notions as embarrassment over a naked body. But he couldn’t be, not with her. It felt . . . _violating,_ somehow. 

Their voices, whether addressing her or spitting venom at each other from their respective sides of the moral spectrum, sounded muted and faint behind the pounding of her pulse in her ears. It was so much all at once; would there ever come a time in her life when she could just have peace? If she had known her little summoning spell was going to toss her right in the middle of a supernatural dick-measuring contest, she would have just left well enough alone. 

A shiver trickled down her spine, and suddenly she realized how cold she was, standing in nothing but a damp towel with her wet hair stuck to the back of her neck. 

“Guys,” she said softly, still unable to fully process that she was standing in her bedroom with a demon and an angel. “Can you go out into the living room or something so I can get dressed?” 

Perhaps she would feel better equipped to deal with this situation once she didn’t feel quite so vulnerable. 

Beetlejuice didn't want to leave her side, especially with an angel who was obviously trying to hide a holy boner over the woman standing beside him, but if it was going give him a leg up on a celestial, he'd do it. 

"Sure thing, baby girl," Beetlejuice agreed, leaning into her to kiss her cheek while keeping his eyes on angel, just to see his reaction to the familiarity. 

_Then he left the room, confident that he would be followed. As he suspected, a faint footfall accompanied by the sound of distant bells trailed him. As soon as Molly's door was shut, he spun back on the angel._

__

__

"You fucking think you're “protecting" her?! What a line of horseshit! If you really are spying on her, then you'll know I didn't coerce her into calling me--she did that all on her own! Plus I actively tried to leave! I told her to try again, get something else here instead of me! You'd have had an open door to come to her! But you _didn't._ You let her feel like she was alone in this fucking void! 

"Are all guardian angels," he put the two words in finger quotes, "as shittily ineffectual as you?!" 

He expected some retaliation, whether verbal or physical, but didn't expect the angel's eyes to roam his body as if judging him--well, that's how angels viewed everything, really. Superior bastards. 

At his last outburst, Dewey scoffed, finally allowing his eyes to roll. “You could at least put a shirt on. It’s not like it would kill you.” 

"And no, I'm not changing into something else," he finished, snapping the elastic at the waist of the sweatpants for emphasis. He didn't pull them out enough to showcase he wasn't wearing underwear, but he figured the angel was smart enough to figure it out. "I'm comfortable in these, so suck it!" 

It was all he could do to keep his eyes from rolling when the demon cozied up to her, pressed his profane lips to her cheek in a display that was more territorial than affectionate. He nodded and followed suit behind him, shutting the door to let her have a moment’s privacy, and as expected, as soon as they were in the next room over, the demon rounded on him. His arms folded across his chest, a brow arched, like an exasperated parent waiting for a child throwing a tantrum to tire themselves out. 

Now that the demon, who she had called Beetlejuice earlier, was silent, he spoke, careful to keep his tone measured and even. 

“I don’t expect you to get it. There are rules, procedures, structures. We’re _supposed_ to be silent guardians.” He smoothed some of the ruffled feathers in his wings, attempting to remain aloof. “Anyway. I don’t have to explain myself to you, and you’ll be gone soon enough.” 

His eyes drifted toward Molly’s closed bedroom door, brown eyes stormy. Truth be told, he absolutely _useless_ as an angel; if he could have been with her, held her hand, dried her tears . . . maybe none of this would have happened, and she wouldn’t have put her soul in such mortal risk. Hell, he would have settled for just being able to speak to her, to coax her to sing with him, to assure her that she wasn’t alone. 

He could have been everything she needed if not for these _stupid rules._ Angels, he had noticed, had a habit of thinking they knew better than the humans they were placed with, and he had a feeling that if given the opportunity to appear at will, they would use it to manipulate their charges’ choices, altering the course of their life. If there was anything the Boss was a stickler for, it was maintaining free will. 

__tbc . . ._ _


	7. Chapter 7

Once the room was empty of all non-human persons, Molly let the towel fall as she grasped at her chest, her heart aching behind her ribs, body responding in kind to the chaos of her current situation. What was she going to _do?_ She wasn’t about to send Beetlejuice away, even if he was a demon; she knew the loneliness in his eyes all too well, and besides, he had been nothing but kind to her. This angel, on the other hand . . . 

Her jaw set, teeth grinding together, still furious. How dare he waltz into her home like he hadn’t been standing by twiddling his thumbs while she suffered. How dare he try to make her get rid of the one thing that had made her feel less empty since her family died. How dare he try to act as if he had her best interests at heart. Hands shaking, she got dressed, towel-drying her hair and combing it out with her fingers. Molly wasn’t about to stand for this, not in her own home. If she could summon a demon, surely she could banish an angel. 

It took an incredible amount of willpower to open the door and leave the relative safety of her bedroom to walk out into her living room, where the two entities stood icily surveying the other. The tension was so thick, it could be cut with a knife and spread it on toast. Without speaking to either, she went and grabbed the grimoire she used to summon Beetlejuice, flipping through the pages. Most of the herbs she had here already, the others were easy enough to find. Her eyes were uncharacteristically cold as she looked up at the angel. 

⁂

Beetlejuice scratched the hair on his stomach, just to emphasize the fact that he wasn't going to cover himself just because an _angel_ wanted him too.

"For someone who gets off watching people without them knowing, you're such a prude," he said off-handedly, then listened with faux interest about rules, procedures, and structures. He snorted wordlessly when the angel tried to collect himself and pull his "superior than thou" attitude back in place.

He didn't miss the look on the angel's face when he looked back at Molly's bedroom door. His face softened, just a little.

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes. Everybody knew angels got off on hosannas and basking in the Light, not gross icky things like physical touch.

When Molly reappeared, clothed but with her damp hair a deeper shade of blue that he associated closer to depression than not, he took some steps forward to take her hand. The set of her face, however, made him stutter step and not get too close.

“I’m not sending him away. I called him here, and I’ll take whatever consequences that comes with. _You,_ on the other hand, are trespassing, and if you won’t leave, then I’ll make you.”

He watched with bright eyes her going back to her altar and flipping through her grimoire, and laughed out loud when she spun on the angel who was still trying his best to be politely interested but was also obviously worried and exasperated.

Beetlejuice licked his teeth as he grinned in triumph.

"This is _priceless,"_ he crowed. "It must burn pretty bad--pun _totally_ intended--to see how free will is a fundamental right, unlike what the Big Guy might say!

At this point, Dewey was wondering if actually strangling this demon could count as an act of holy smiting, because he was so close to doing it anyway. _Especially_ after that crack about free will. He took a deep breath, trying to push aside his annoyance, trying to push aside the sting of Molly looking at him with near hatred in her eyes. 

“Molly, sweetheart, you _can’t_ banish me. Guardians can’t be sent away, they have to remain near their charges.”

It was written all over her face how tenuous her emotional state was, and although he wanted nothing more than to send his fist flying right into the demon’s smug, crowing face, he ruffled a hand back through his hair and forced himself to calm down. 

“Let’s . . . let’s just sit down and talk. Okay?”

Molly wanted to scream that she didn’t _care_ if the spell didn’t work, she at least had to try, but deep down, she knew the simple banishing spell in the grimoire wouldn’t be strong enough to handle any celestial, let alone her guardian angel. A sob nearly clawed its way out of her throat, but she closed the book in defeat. 

“So . . . what, I’m just stuck with you? You can’t just poof yourself invisible again? I don’t see why not, you seemed so comfortable with it before.”

She couldn’t help it, her chest physically ached with the need to be near someone, and she breezed past the angel to wrap her arms around Beetlejuice’s waist. 

“This is a fucking nightmare,” she murmured, her face half buried in his chest. 

After a moment or two, Molly spoke again. “All right. Fine. You wanna talk? Let’s talk.” 

She gently pushed on the demon’s chest, guiding him back toward the couch and sitting, curling up close to his side.

It didn’t escape him, the suggestive licking of his lips or the intimate caress of his fingers over her stomach. It also didn’t escape him that the demon was purposefully trying to provoke him, trying to lord his supposed “claim” to her over him. His cheeks flared red and hot, but he simply shot the smirking demon a glare before he sunk onto the floor, sitting cross legged, hands fidgeting in his lap. He’d been hoping just he and Molly could talk, but at this point, Dewey didn’t think he could persuade her to be alone with him. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her. 

“I know this must all seem like a bit much all at once,” he began, wishing she would at least look at him, “and you have every right to be angry with me. If I was in your position, I’d be angry too. But this?” He nodded toward the demon, whose smirk was beginning to fade. “This is dangerous. I don’t think you realize how much. It’s not just your life that’s at stake here, Molly, its your _soul._ Demons are _manipulative,_ they can’t be trusted, they can’t be tamed or domesticated or whatever it is you planned to do. He will end up killing you at some point, if he loses control or just gets bored. It’s what they do. It’s in their nature to crave chaos and suffering. 

“And when he does kill you, after you let him mark you? You run the risk of never being able to see your family again.” 

Dewey was leaning forward now, as if bowed beneath the gravity of the situation.

Molly was only half-listening, at least until the angel proclaimed that Beej would kill her. She let out a scoff and rolled her eyes; he had no idea what he was talking about. Beej had been nothing but gentle with her, asking what _she_ wanted, looking after _her_ comfort. He couldn’t possibly be as evil as the angel said he was. And yet . . . some little voice, no louder than a whisper but so persistent, murmured that as an angel, he would have more experience with demons. Wouldn’t he know how they operated? She hadn’t known Beetlejuice terribly long, what made her so sure he wasn’t manipulating her? Her arms tightened around him; she didn’t like having these thoughts, hated the idea that he could willfully harm her. 

When he mentioned seeing her family again, her eyes finally drifted to him. 

“That’s a low fucking blow,” she muttered, her heart wrenching in her chest. “So, what? I’m supposed to banish him, repent of my sins, be born again, that whole schtick?” Molly sighed, dropping her embrace to lean forward on the couch. “Look. I’m still angry with you. But I understand you may not have had a choice, either. I can’t make you leave, but I won’t make him leave; he’s got every right to be here, and I don’t regret summoning him. My life isn’t going to change just because you suddenly decided to show up.”

Beetlejuice liked that the angel sat on the ground, wings folded tightly behind his back, his hands tapping, entwining themselves, unable to be still. The pink on his cheeks, too, made him grin. An angel choosing to sit in an inferior position, blushing . . . some incredibly _infernal_ thoughts slipped though his mind as he looked down on the uninvited guest. 

Beetlejuice was brought back to the matter at hand and any naughty scenarios evaporated like vapor when the angel started talking to Molly about him, like he wasn't even present. 

Okay, so he had manipulated people. He had hurt people. He had killed people. It was a little hazy in his memory if he did it because he was bored. Chaos? Yes. Control over whether or not a person goes to the Light or not, just because he'd fucked them?

Please. Nobody had that kind of power. 

He growled, "I _you_ I didn't coerce her to come here and I actively told her to send me away!" while Molly herself jumped to his defense. Semi-defense? There was a little acknowledgment that the _angel_ didn't have much choice in his lot, either? 

His grip tightened as she accused him of playing dirty. It wasn't overtly possessive, this hug; he knew the pain of losing people you cared about. He doubted the angel could understand it. 

The sting of her seeming to have some slight recognition of the angel's predicament was squashed by her conviction she wasn't going to send him away. 

"Molly, baby," he said quietly, into her ear, while looking at the angel. "I've enjoyed my time with you. I think you did too. And then this angel, this appointed guardian, this holy dental dam for your soul, just shows up out of the blue? He hasn't even told you his _name._ He seems to expect so much instant trust from you, but he hasn't even given you that?"

He wanted to be angry with the demon for insinuating that _he_ could possibly be the manipulator, but . . . he couldn’t. As much as he hated to admit it, the demon had a point. Angels weren’t supposed to share their names with their charges--names held power, encouraged familiarity. Angels were meant to be above that. Even so, he couldn’t help himself from blurting it out. 

“Dewey,” he said softly. “My name is Dewey.” In the interest of transparency, he took a deep breath, and began talking. “I died back in the seventies, I think maybe seventy-eight or seventy-nine. I fell asleep at the wheel and crashed. I was appointed to you when you were thirteen; you were my first charge.” 

A rather fond smile crossed his face, thinking back to that time before tragedy touched her life, remembering her as she was and could never be again. 

“I remember being proud of you for sneaking CD’s past your parents, even though I shouldn’t have been. I always felt just a little proud of you when you rebelled.” 

That was a secret he had promised to keep to himself, but he wanted Molly to trust him, wanted her to _know_ him.

Molly leaned back against her demon as the angel spoke, giving her his name, a rush of details spilling from his lips as if determined to be as forthcoming as possible. It was interesting to learn about his past, to learn that he really hadn’t been an angel for terribly long, to learn that she was his first charge. Idly, her fingers brushed back and forth across Beetlejuice’s arm, as if seeking contact subconsciously. Despite his previous absence in her life, despite his apparent hatred of the demon she had summoned and his insistence that she had made a mistake, he didn’t seem _bad._ Just like a regular person stuck with a bad job. 

When he was finished, she raked her fingers back through her air, fluffy and waved from air drying. Conflict tugged at her heart; if they weren’t two opposing forces, she almost wouldn’t mind them both staying. If they could learn to behave, to refuse their natures for the sake of peace, then it could even be nice to have them around. Her voice was decidedly softer when she spoke again. 

“Look. Either both of you go, or no one goes. Since you can’t leave, you’re just going to have to be okay with Beej being here. He could have hurt me so many times last night, but he didn’t. I don’t believe that he would. So you’re just going to have to learn to live with him.” 

As if that settled the matter, she got to her feet. “I’m going to make coffee, and if anybody wants some, let me know.” 

It felt odd, to just walk into her kitchen and start up the coffeemaker like it was any other morning. But with all that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours, she needed a bit of normalcy now more than ever.

Beetlejuice let her up and said that he'd like coffee, black as sin, and put it in the microwave so it'd be even hotter after it was brewed. He watched her walk out of the room with his eyes on the swing of her hips, then he turned back to the angel, still on the floor. He caught the holy being _also_ watching Molly's ass. He cocked his head as possessive rage flared in him, but he tamped it down for the moment as things the angel had confessed drifted through his head. 

A curl swept across Dewey's brow as he nodded at Molly, murmuring that he’d have whatever she was having, his eyes trailing after her like a lovesick puppy as she retreated into the kitchen. Part of him wanted to join her there, as he had done every morning she had lived in this house, but he forced himself to stay put, folded up on the floor, looking up at a glowering demon. 

"You were alive," he said. It came out a little more accusatory than maybe he'd meant it. "I thought guardian angels--well, all angels, really--were shavings off the Big Man. I figured guardian angels were pariahs of the pack. Everyone else gets to be close to the alpha, while you're stuck slaving away near stinky, sweaty, gross humans. I never would've guessed you were alive once too." 

The realization that he didn't know as much about angels as he thought--plus the more sudden, shittier realization that _he_ probably would've taken the same deal to be close to people if it'd been offered--made him close his mouth sharply. He conjured a cigarette to cover his sudden discomfort that he could've been trapped in the same situation. Taking a drag on it, he changed his train of thought. 

"So Dewey, huh? You don't look Welsh. Was that what you were actually named, or something you picked after--" He pointed upward with the cigarette between his first two fingers. "--because it sounded like something in nature, and God's all about that?"

He sighed, expecting to be repulsed by the smell of cigarette smoke but finding it oddly familiar; he didn’t remember most of his human life, but every now and then he caught snippets. Did he smoke? Perhaps he had loved someone who did. 

“Most guardian angels were humans once. Most have been angels so long they’ve forgotten how to be human.” His gaze fell down to his hands, which had begun to fidget in his lap again. “The Heaven-born angels . . . kind of look down on the job. So it’s given to us.” 

Spilling himself to Molly seemed to have opened some kind of floodgates, and demon or not, it was still a nice change to be able to talk to someone. 

“People that are deemed worthy are given a choice when they die. Enter the Light, or become a guardian. If you become a guardian, you can’t be in the Light, so you lose your chance to reunite with passed loved ones. Most choose the Light. I didn’t have any family to speak of, and...being dead kind of messed me up. I just wanted to be back on earth, with _people._ If I’d known how lonely it was . . . ” 

He stopped himself, cleared his throat. “Yeah. That was my name before I died. Dewey Finn.”

Molly could hear them speaking from the kitchen, and let loose a sigh of relief when their voices weren’t raised in anger or accusation. Perhaps they could learn to get along. Maybe this didn’t have to be the gigantic clusterfuck it had started out as. She poured a cup to Beetlejuice’s specifications, nuking it for three minutes to get it near boiling while she poured a cup for herself and Dewey, adding cream and sugar to lighten the brew. Arranging the mugs on a tray, she stopped and took a deep breath, steeling herself to return to the tension of the living room. 

That tension, she was grateful to find, had eased somewhat, the two still holding a remarkably civil conversation. She set the tray on the coffee table and settled back against the demon’s side, cradling her mug in her hands like a living thing, warm and soothing. After a moment, she sighed. 

“Dewey, why don’t you come up here? You don’t have to sit on the floor, there’s room on the couch.” 

Molly figured that as long as he got to hold her close, Beetlejuice wouldn’t be as opposed to an angel sharing the space.

He shifted his cigarette from one hand to the other, the one over the arm of the couch he was lazing against to fold Molly back into his side. Her invitation for the angel to join them made him tense, but he'd already ignored his baser instincts to talk to him, so him sitting at the other end of the couch shouldn't be a problem. Even if it was the spot he'd asked Molly to finger herself so he could watch. 

He grinned to himself at the memory as Dewey gingerly settled onto the cushions. 

"Dewey the angel was just telling me about how there's uppity snobs up there, shitting on the confused, newly deceased. Making them take jobs they don't want, so they can grovel and continue to feel superior to the masses. Isn't that right, Dewey?" he said conversationally. 

He took a drag, then set the cigarette down on the coffee table, lit end out as he took his scalding cup of coffee. As he brought it to his mouth, he continued, 

"Kinda makes you think the angels that never had anything to do with people don't really embody the whole "forgiveness and love everyone" vibe that's supposed to be the driving force up there."

As he took a mouthful of the scalding, burnt coffee, he didn't miss Dewey's glance to the cigarette he'd put aside. 

"You want a smoke?" he asked. Anyone else, he'd probably just pass the one he'd all ready taken a drag from, but he didn't think that'd fly. 

Instead, he tapped his finger to his thumb and like a magic trick, a fresh cigarette appeared between them. He twirled it and offered to the angel with raised eyebrows.

He was grateful for the invitation, grateful that Molly was allowing him closer, and he smiled as he all but scrambled up onto the couch, blissfully unaware of the carnal activities that had taken place there the night previous. As soon as clothes had started coming off, he’d retreated to her basement, where he couldn’t see or hear them. In the light of the day, the action felt cowardly, especially since he’d been professing moments ago that demons only had lethal intentions for humans. 

The first sip of coffee nearly made his eyes roll back in his head; he’d forgotten how much he loved the stuff, and it was all he could do not to slurp it down immediately. Over his cup, his eyes narrowed at the demon, casual insults disguised with a conversational tone. Truthfully, they didn’t sting as much as he thought they would; he wasn’t exactly _wrong_ about the angelic hierarchy. The celestials higher on the totem pole tended to be aloof, their noses turned up at the notion of humans. It was their prerogative to look after the Boss’s favorite creation, but they always did so with an air of superiority. Dewey himself thought they were snobby and standoffish, but that wasn’t just something you said. Besides, it’s not like angels had an HR department to complain to. 

“They just want what’s best,” he said in a lame attempt to defend them. “They don’t know what being human means, they don’t make mistakes or let their emotions get the better of them. They don’t understand why humans are so . . . messy. I think that’s why its people like me that get the guardian jobs. Because we do know.”

He was a bit surprised at the offering of a cigarette, even more surprised that the demon had picked up on his brief, longing look. 

Dewey nodded, even managed a stiff smile as he took the offered cigarette, snapping his fingers to light it. The first drag reminded him that _oh yes,_ he did smoke cigarettes, and the curling of smoke in his lungs plus the coffee? He almost felt human again. 

“Thank you.”

Molly nearly drove her elbow into Beetlejuice’s side at the uncalled-for jab against celestials, but she let it go when Dewey didn’t seem offended beyond a half-hearted glare. He, at least, seemed to be backing down from the territorial back and forth. Then, to her surprise and relief, Beetlejuice offered a cigarette. Both sides seemed to be attempting to make peace, and she was grateful for that. Playing referee for a demon and an angel for the foreseeable future didn’t exactly sound fun. 

She settled more firmly against her demon, her head against his chest as she watched Dewey take another drag from his cigarette with apparent delight. 

“I’m going to have to invest in some ash trays,” she murmured off-handedly, smiling despite herself. 

Perhaps this _could_ work, and if it did . . . it would seem all the lonely souls in this house would get what they wanted. Mug half-drained, she sighed and looked at the angel, curled up into a tight ball on the opposite end of the couch. 

“It’s strange that you’re still defending them,” she said lightly, not meaning to offend him but merely offering her point of view. “You don’t seem like the type of person that likes following rules, Dewey. You said yourself you were proud of me whenever I’d rebel against my parents. So why do you bend over backwards to uphold the rules of a system that looks down on you? 

“Why not rebel a little yourself?”

Beetlejuice snorted into his coffee. 

“Oh baby, even I know the answer to that question if everything in the Bible is 100% true. Which I'm sure it is," he smirked.

Dewey ignored the crack about the Bible, shaking his head. 

“Rebellion is . . . not well received upstairs,” he said lowly, his gaze dropping to his lap as he took another drag on the cigarette. “Besides . . . ” The words seemed to catch in his throat, and again, he blushed. “I _like_ watching over you. I like being near you. I’ve been around you for so long, watched you grow up and change . . .” 

Somehow, he shrunk further into himself, his voice a barely audible murmur. “I don’t want to risk not being with you.” 

He was sure it would seem like a weakness to the demon, this need to be near his charge, and oh, if only he knew the thoughts, the _fantasies_ he’d had about her . . .

Well. Neither of them needed to know.

Molly sighed but didn’t press the subject, draining her cup and getting back to her feet. 

“I’m just saying. You don’t really seem like you fit very well within their rules.” 

She stretched, a slice of bare stomach visible as her shirt rode up, and pushed her hair back from her forehead, the waves spilling over her shoulder. 

“I’m gonna find something you two can use as an ashtray before you track ash all over my carpet.” Her soft smile removed any sting of scold from her statement, tossed over her shoulder as she went to rummage through her kitchen for a suitable substitute ashtray.

He let his fingers trail on her as she got up again. After she'd left the room once more, he looked over at the angel shrewdly. That blush on his cheeks was back, and Beetlejuice knew he hadn't missed the familiar touch.

"Would you lose your wings? You know, if you told them to kiss your ass?" he asked. "I've seen demons with wings, but it's more an aesthetic thing. Most don't bother, or have . . . other adornments."

Like an idiot, his line of questioning left the door open for return queries of a personal nature about himself, so he interrupted it with a huge mouthful of coffee. It'd grown a little cold but he drank it anyway.

After half a second had passed with no reply--it was occasionally difficult for him to remember other beings may need some time to answer--he continued in a slightly different vein.

"I'm sure you'll think this next thing I'm gonna say this because I'll get some kind of infernal gold star or be next in line for a promotion or something, but that's not it. I'm a little outside their specific jurisdiction. So . . . if you _rebel,_ what's stopping you from seeing her?"

The line of questioning surprised him a little, made him pause, and so left him equally unprepared to answer the second question the demon lobbed his way. His cheeks burned; he had never hated his tendency to blush under strain more. Honestly, there was so much about being an angel that was a mystery to him-by their standards, he was still considered a rookie, wet behind the ears. 

“Rebelling against heaven isn’t something that should be desired,” he said, more for himself than for Beetlejuice. “But . . . if I was cast out, then I guess there wouldn’t be anything stopping me. Theoretically.” 

He huffed and drained his coffee cup, chasing it immediately with a lungful of bitter smoke. “But it’s my duty to protect her. I can’t . . . I can’t leave that behind just because I . . .”

He stopped himself, cleared his throat. Better not to admit those pesky human wants out loud, especially in front of the present company.

“And as far as my wings go, I’m not sure. They’re a physical part of my body, so they can’t just be stripped. They’d have to physically cut them off of me.” Dewey couldn’t help a shudder at the thought. “If the crime is particularly bad, I think they remove the wings. At the very least, you get banished to Earth permanently.”

He couldn’t be sure if it was being in the presence of a demon, or being able to talk to the woman he’d been guarding for so long, but with each moment that passed, rebelling seemed like more and more like an appealing concept. So what if he lost his wings? So what if he betrayed perhaps the highest power to ever exist? So what if he abandoned his post and lost the ability to protect her? Being able to hold her and kiss her whenever he wanted would make it all worth it. 

But the sobering reality of it all was that if he did give it all up for her, he had no way of knowing if she would return his affections. What if he rebelled and she rejected him? He’d be left with nothing, with no purpose, no home, no reason for being. The risk was too high. Besides, what was he doing talking about it to a _demon?_

“Again, this is all hypothetical.”

_tbc . . ._


	8. Chapter 8

She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t sit still, continually bouncing up to get something from the kitchen, drifting out of Beetlejuice’s hold even though part of her still ached to be close to him. It all just felt like too much, having gone from zero to a hundred in the attention department. It made her feel jittery, anxious, like an electric current of discomfort was buzzing just beneath her skin. Beej seemed to possessively drag his fingers over her every thirty seconds or so, and the way Dewey looked at her, turning the full force of those dark brown eyes on her, pinning her like a bug under a microscope . . . it made her uncomfortably aware of her physical self.

And then there was the apparent fondness he had for her. She supposed that angels were supposed to be fond of their charges to some degree, but the way he looked at her, the way a flush seemed to creep its way up his neck to his ears when he looked at her too long, suggested his interest was less than professional. Molly wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. He was cute, and she liked the gentle tone of his voice, and if circumstances were different then maybe she would feel more okay with the concept. But the fact remained that they weren’t different. 

She sighed and refilled her coffee cup, adding a splash of cheap whiskey to the bottom before digging out a battered plastic ramekin that would suffice as an ashtray until she could get a proper one. Despite the slight tug to stay in the kitchen and hide, she came back out into the living room, setting the ramekin down on the coffee table and settling back into place on the couch. What on earth had she gotten herself into?

Molly returning interrupted Beetlejuice’s next question--something about whether angels gained wings but lost their balls in exchange, _hypothetically,_ of course; he knew the answer, from blush that hadn’t fully ever faded and the longing looks Dewey had cast at Molly. He also wanted to ask if Molly was his only charge, or the only one he lusted after. 

But she settled back against him again, and once more he felt a surge of superiority that she’d pick _him_ over an actual _angel._ It was nice for a second just to revel in that.

Her heat, where the skin of her arm touched his bare stomach, was intoxicating. He resisted the urge to nuzzle into her the crook of her shoulder and neck, not because he was too shy but because he knew he’d probably moan and pop a boner in these sweatpants, and he wasn’t sure how Molly would react to that. He had a feeling she wouldn’t just be okay with heading back to the bedroom with her guardian angel wringing his hands and tutting his disapproval outside her closed door--or fuck it, _open_ door--while they were getting it on. 

Running a finger under the hem of her shirt to touch her side, soaking up the warmth there too, his train of thought jumped the track. She hadn’t seem to care, but had Molly expected him to be warm? His skin was cool . . . so was an angel’s skin warm, then? His amber eyes scanned Dewey; not much of his skin was exposed. Just his hands and neck and face, really. 

Beetlejuice had a near overwhelming desire to sit up and grab Dewey’s hand, just to see if there was heat there too. He resisted the urge, of course; he’d dislodge Molly and scare them both, and probably end up with a flaming sword through his gut or something. 

He didn’t need a heavenly host raining holy wrath down on him in defense of one of their own.

So instead he went back to his cigarette, looking lazily through the wisps of smoke at him.

“Well. This has been . . . something,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “You checked in on your charge. You gonna float on back up to wherever? I bet there’s a shit ton of paperwork you’ve got to get done, huh? Molly and I had a full day planned, you know. She was going to show me her gardens, we were going to take a nap . . . boring stuff that couldn’t possibly interest an angel.”

Seeing the expression on the angel’s face pinch like maybe what he’d said had hurt, then grow a touch wistful towards the end when he mentioned the most boring plans ever, Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes. He snuffed out his cigarette in the makeshift ashtray Molly had provided, and turned his attention to her. 

“Molly, baby . . . do you mind giving us a few more minutes alone?” he asked. 

Both the other two looked up at him in surprise. And suspicion. And protests were building up, in both of them. 

He continued to address her, but kept half a glance at Dewey.

“Infernal and celestial stuff. You know. Guy talk.”

Those protests were at the backs of their teeth, ready to spill out of their mouths; he could tell. He held up a hand to continue to stall them for the moment. 

“I promise no physical altercation. I won’t even raise my voice!” he promised her, before turning to Dewey to sweeten the pot for him too. “And as much as it pains me to cover this fine specimen of ghostly demonhood, I’ll put on clothes.”

He raised his eyebrows and opened his hand in a more passive gesture, glancing between the two.

“Okay? I just want to talk.”

Molly was apprehensive to say the least when Beej all but insisted that he talk alone with the angel. She opened her mouth to advise that maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea, considering she _didn't_ want her house smashed to pieces in some sort of supernatural altercation, but he seemed serious about keeping the peace. She looked back at Dewey, who looked stunned, but nodded, and she shrugged. 

"All right. I needed to tend the gardens anyway. I'll be out back if you need me."

She let her fingertips drift over Beetlejuice's cheek, even tossing a reassuring, if brief, smile over her shoulder at the angel, and tossed her hair up as she walked out the back door. 

It was cool outside, overcast, the clouds silver and shifting overhead, like a portent of something to come, and she couldn't help a shiver. There was a gnawing in her gut, some sense of foreboding she couldn't put her finger on. As she pulled weeds in her gardens, she tried to push the feeling away, but it persisted. She hoped against hope that their talk went well, and this feeling would cease.

Dewey was taken aback when the demon first scrutinized his face, amber eyes narrowing as if he could see right through the angel; he supposed he _was_ easy to read--if there was no one to see his face, there was no need to hide his expression. He was dumbstruck, however, when a _demon_ of all people asked to talk, offered an olive branch. Even offered to put on clothes.

His first instinct was distrust, wondering what sort of hidden agenda Beetlejuice had. Get the girl out of the room, then go for the throat? As a guardian, he wasn't allowed weapons, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve that could make a demon regret pulling any hasty moves. Even Molly seemed apprehensive, but to his surprise, she stood and left the room, smiling at him over her shoulder. Did she trust them alone together? Trusted the demon not to pull anything? 

Dewey sighed, his wings ruffling as he turned to face the demon on the couch. If Molly trusted him, perhaps he could take that leap of faith too. After all, besides some snarky remarks here and there, Beetlejuice had never actually threatened him.

"All right," he said, wishing he had another cigarette. "What is it you wanna talk about?"

“What do you think I want to talk about? Whether or not that Tiger King show on Netflix is worth anyone’s time,” Beetlejuice replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. At the hardening expression on the angel’s face, he amended with, “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I wanna talk about Molly, of course.”

He stood up. “I suppose you’d prefer I not strip in front of you, right?”

Without waiting for a reply, he simply flicked his suit back on. The sweatpants were soft and comfortable, but the stripes were familiar, like stepping into his skin. It gave him a sense of power that was distinctly different than throwing his weight around half dressed because it made an angel uncomfortable. 

He sat back down in the same position, leaning back against the arm of the couch, in a calculated manspread. Rolling his fingers together like before, two fresh cigarettes appeared between his fingers, and he offered one to Dewey. He even went as far as to light it for the angel, then dragged on his own.

Brown eyes narrowed at the demon's acerbic commentary; so they were already off to a bad start, it seemed. Even the display of magicking his clothes back in place seemed deliberate, a show of his ability. And, Dewey had to admit, while the stripes were shabby and threadbare, they were more intimidating than a pair of women's sweatpants.

"Are all demons so _considerate?"_ His eyes rolled as well, though he took the offered cigarette. 

Once Beetlejuice had gathered a lungful of smoke, he used the cigarette to point at the angel. 

“You’re her guardian, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? You have actual feelings for her.”

Dewey wouldn't go so far as to thank him for the smoke yet, but his expression softened a bit, his posture loosening from its tensed state. However, when Beetlejuice pointed accusingly at him, the tip of his lit cigarette trailing a thread of grey smoke, he bristled.

"I . . . I don't know what you're talking about." He grit his teeth; even _he_ wasn't convinced by his protests, and he hated that the demon could see through him so easily. "It's complicated."

Beetlejuice smirked at the fire he glimpsed in the angel's eyes, blew out the smoke he'd held, and brought the cigarette back to his lips.

"Bold of you to assume I'm a full demon," he replied mildly. He let that statement float for a moment, before continuing. "And thou doth protest too much, methinks. You're not very subtle. You looked like you were sunburned, blushing so much when Molly was here."

He tapped the ash off his smoke, and stared down at it in his fingers for a moment.

Dewey quirked an eyebrow at the full demon comment, but the blatant call-out of his rather embarrassing reaction to being near Molly made him, of course, flush to the tips of his ears in indignation. He could explain that he didn't have to hide anything before the demon showed up, so he hadn't ever had to be subtle before, but he took a drag off his cigarette and said nothing. No reason to give him even more ammunition.

"Hey, what do I know about angels? Maybe up there's just one big never ending orgy. In the Netherworld, everybody swings both ways; maybe it's the same up there too." He lifted his gaze to Dewey's again. "All I'm saying is that if you're having non-angelic thoughts about your charge, maybe the whole guardian angel thing isn't for you. Free will is a hell of a thing compared to blind obedience.

"Just something to consider. Something to think about."

He sighed, smoke leaving his mouth in a thin stream. 

"That's the thing. Thoughts are fine, they don't hurt anything. But _acting_ on anything . . . it's a risk. A _big_ risk." God, Dewey wished he could be having this conversation with anyone else, or better yet, not having it at all. "I know . . . I know Molly doesn't like me. It isn't a stretch to say she hates me, and I can't exactly blame her. I couldn't be there the way she needed me to be." 

His eyes fell to the floor, the hand that brought the cigarette to his lips now shaking slightly. 

"If I did . . . what you're suggesting, if I rebelled to be with her, I lose everything. And the likelihood of her wanting to be with me is slim to none. Apparently, I'm not exactly her _type."_ He gave the demon a narrowed glance, but there was no real venom in it. "It's . . . it's too big of a gamble. I'm better off just standing to the side."

Hearing that, the resignation, Beetlejuice cocked his head as if trying to see the angel from a new perspective. He knew that feeling, the feeling of being trapped, no conceivable way to change his circumstances. It was crushing, and he half wondered if angels had the option of a Lost Souls room too, because an eternity of nothingness was sometimes more appealing than an eternity of pining and slog.

As to Molly . . . he didn’t quite have an answer to that. Well, maybe.

“She was fucking _lonely,”_ he said, in faint exasperation. “I know you’ve repeated ad nauseum about rules and restrictions and all that, but it seems like a huge flaw in that system. It taking someone so desperate for someone that they literally open their door to whatever might be strolling by to waltz right in and make itself at home before you can help is really shitty. 

“She’s damn lucky there were some typos on that page and she only called up me, and not something else.”

He looked at his cigarette again, but decided he was done with it. 

“I’m gonna regret this, I just know it,” he sighed, mostly to himself even as he looked up and caught the angel’s eyes again. “But if you just _talk_ to her, if you just tell her that you wanted to do more but you were afraid for the reasons you just told me, maybe that’d convince her how sincere you actually are. Leave off the stuff about ‘saving her soul’ or whatever. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t have near that kind of pull.”

Suddenly the lit cigarette in his hand was fascinating again. 

“You tell her all that, and you won’t have anything else to worry about, Dewey,” he finished quietly. “She’ll understand and realize how much better it’ll be with you, and then she’ll send me away. You’ll win either way: she’ll be safe from me, or you’ll have a reason to stick it to the man and get to be with her.”

Dewey opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to insist that even for knowing her only half a day, he’d already helped Molly more than her own angel had done in fifteen years, but he closed it and stood. 

“I’ll go talk to her.” 

_tbc . . ._


	9. Chapter 9

With another sincere, if tight-lipped, smile at the demon, Dewey walked out the back door. The clouds had swiftly covered the sun, and for a moment he mourned the opportunity to see the way her hair caught the sunlight as she knelt in her garden, thick gloves protecting her hands as she pulled weeds with single-minded tenacity. Feeling shy all of a sudden, his toe dug into the soft dirt at the edge of her garden, clearing his throat after a moment and feeling that gentle shock of seeing her eyes settle on him, rather than through him, as they had done for so long. 

“Molly, I . . . I’ve got something I wanted to tell you.”

Her brows furrowed slightly. There was _more,_ on top of everything else? She got to her feet, dusting off her knees, and tugged the gloves from her hands. “Okay. What is it?”

Dewey took a deep breath, and for the first time since he had been alive, he felt the faint stirrings of butterflies in his stomach, such a foreign and startlingly human reaction. 

“First of all, I want to say again how . . . how _sorry_ I am. Truly. You’ve been so sad and so lonely, and I didn’t do a thing to help.” There was an inscrutable shift in her expression when she registered the word change from _couldn’t_ to _didn’t._ “You have every right to be angry with me. I . . . I guess I understand now why you . . . ” He gestured toward the house. “Why you’re so attached to him. I hate to admit it, but for a demon, he seems . . . solid.” 

Which was honestly the nicest thing he would allow himself to say about Beetlejuice right now.

Molly continued to listen in silence, so he plunged ahead. 

“For an angel, I've been kinda selfish. For the longest time, at least in my mind, it was just you and me, y'know? You were my charge, my girl, and then you just . . . just invite some stranger in. He just happened to be a demon, which meant I could make the case that your soul was in danger and, well, here we are. Honestly, I should have found a way to appear to you sooner, but . . ." Dewey stalled, scratching nervously at the back of his head. "I . . . I wanted to be near you for the wrong reasons."

She spoke up then, her head tilted to the side in confusion. "The wrong reasons?"

His wings ruffles uncomfortably, his teeth worrying his lower lip as he had seen her on so many times. 

"As your guardian, it's natural for me to . . . to bond with you, even if you're unaware of it. I'm supposed to care for you, and I do. But . . . I care _about_ you too. More than I should. And I was afraid that if I . . . if I let you see me, if I got close to you . . . the temptation would be too much."

"Temptation?" Her brow furrowed, and he felt ice slip down his gullet at the look of near dread on her face. "Dewey, what are you talking about?"

He tried to find the words to tell her. He wanted to string together every poem he'd ever read, every love song he'd ever heard, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to properly express how he felt in words alone. So instead he took her hands, leaned in, and kissed her.

It was everything he had dreamed it would be. It was the most terrifying moment of his existence. She was soft, warm, her scent surrounding him like drugged perfume, and _she wasn't pulling away._ He let his lips linger against hers for a moment, a single second that held years of longing, before stepping back. There was a tug at his heart when he saw her eyes had closed, dismay twisting in his gut when he saw tears leaking out from beneath her lashes.

“Oh honey, don’t cry, please . . . I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Despite the worry that sent a chill through his body, he couldn’t help but marvel at the ability to brush her tears away, lifting them from her cheeks as he had wished to do for ages. Her breath hitched as she opened her eyes, and she shook her head. 

“I-It’s not that . . . Dewey, I . . . I _felt_ you.” 

Confused at first, he looked down to see where his hand still cradled hers, astonished to find that his golden aura had enveloped her almost up to the elbow. Molly let out a sob, and he let go of her hands, watching the glow fade. For those moments, just for a few precious seconds, she had been able to feel the depth of his feeling for her, felt each second he had spent loving her from a distance, and it had overwhelmed her. 

“Moly . . .”

He didn’t know what to say after that. A lump gathered in his throat as he watched her regain her composure, terrified of what she would say next while simultaneously dying to know. After a minute or so, her tears dry though there was still a slight quiver to her mouth, she took a deep breath and caught his eyes with hers.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said softly, and Dewey let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Don’t be. I probably would have done the same thing.”

It was Molly’s turn to take a step closer, though she didn’t reach for him. “This, um . . . this is an awful lot for me to process.” 

Almost imperceptibly, his wings began to droop; that sounded an awful lot like the beginning of a rejection. Then, her warm fingers stroked down his arm, linking momentarily with his. 

“But I think I understand now, at least a little. I just wish . . . I wish you could have done this sooner.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” A soft smile curled on his face, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to feel hopeful.

Though it was still sore from her chewing the previous night, her teeth nipped at the broken spot on her lip, which quickly grew red. 

“I’ll admit . . . I don’t know what to do now.” She nodded toward the house, and he understood what she meant. “I summoned him. I brought him here. And he’s been so kind to me. He’s a demon, he can take what he wants, but he was patient, he asked what I wanted. He . . . you know, he’s just a lonely guy. Just as lonely as you and me, maybe more. That’s probably why the spell brought him here.” 

She took a breath. “I’m willing to try this out, to let you stay with me . . . to be with you. But he’s part of the deal. As far as I’m concerned, this is his home now, just as much as it is mine.” Her brow raised in question. “Can you live with that?”

Dewey smiled, lifting a hand to gently push a stray curl back behind her ear. “For you? Absolutely. Besides, as far as demons go, I’ll admit . . . he’s pretty cute.”

That caused her to laugh, the first genuine smile gracing her mouth since he’d arrived, and his heart melted in relief. 

“Okay,” she breathed, pausing for a moment before leaning forward and brushing a kiss over his cheek; a spot of heat lingered where her lips touched his skin. 

With Dewey following, Molly went back inside the house, not surprised to find Beetlejuice roaming around her home again, fully clothed this time. 

“Beej, can we talk for a sec?”

⁂

Beetlejuice watched Dewey walk--walk!--out of the house. To find Molly, to talk to Molly, to explain himself to Molly, all at his suggestion. Her house felt empty now, with no one else in it. That shouldn’t hurt as much as it did; he was used to being alone, and it was going to happen again pretty quickly, so why should there be a bitter taste in the back of his mouth? Alone was his lot in life. He should be used to it. 

He picked at the frayed strings on his jacket’s sleeve. He could only imagine what an angel approaching Molly outside was going to look like. Although Dewey wasn’t in a flowing gown, he was at least dressed nicer. And with the snow white wings, and with the sun coming down, creating a golden corona of light around him . . . shit.

Shit.

He’d shot himself in the foot. He should’ve stayed angry, stayed indignant, and forced this celestial interloper the fuck out of here. Now he just felt reduced and stupid.

He wondered how long he’d spend by himself before someone messed up and accidently called him again, after Molly sent him away.

With a moan of despair that no one heard--also a standard thing in his life--Beetlejuice got up from the couch. He went the altar Molly had set up and ran his fingers over the candles and grimoire she’d put there. A small bowl held charred remains of plant material and on closer examination, a few strands of her hair that she’d used in her ritual. They weren’t much, all heat curled at the ends, but they were as blue as the sea and he pocketed them as a reminder of her. He doubted she’d give him any long strands, after Dewey would explain how demons could continue to influence people if they had tangible things to focus on. 

They were still outside talking. He wandered into the kitchen under the pretense of getting more coffee, but also to get a peek at them. He was a world class voyeur, and should have been spying on them all along, but the pain that settled into his gut had pinned him to the couch. 

The window over the sink was open. He’d forgotten that. Beetlejuice saw them in her garden, standing so close. Her hand was in his! He pushed her hair behind her ear! 

He should be seething, but he just felt tired. This was the expected result, after all. 

He couldn’t hear much, but with his head down he caught a little. Dewey was saying something about "for her? Absolutely!"

Beetlejuice flinched. She was asking the angel to help banish him. He tensed in anticipation of being sent away without even being next to her again. 

But then--

“For a demon, he’s pretty cute”?

Beetlejuice’s head snapped up as those words made it to his ears. He must have heard wrong, because Molly laughed like she was delighted to hear that. He watched her press a kiss to Dewey’s face, and then lead him back to the house, towards the back door. 

Quickly, Beetlejuice skipped back to the living room and stood by the altar again, picking up the green candle like he’d been there all along. Hoping his expression was neutral enough to disguise he’d overheard tail end of their conversation, he turned when she said they should talk. 

“Sure,” he replied to her question quietly. “I’m ready to go.”

“Go?” Her brow furrowed, and in a split second, she realized that he must have seen them talking in the garden, might have even seen the kiss, and had come to the conclusion that she had chosen Dewey over him. 

Indeed, his face was a stony mask of resignation, but those amber eyes couldn’t completely conceal his hurt, and Molly felt her heart splinter inside her chest. 

“Oh, honey, no. No, you’re not going anywhere.” 

She crossed immediately to him and reached up to cradle his face between her hands, softly kissing the corner of his mouth. No matter how many times she reassured him that she wanted him around, that he could stay as long as he wanted, he always seemed convinced that he was moments from being sent away, and it broke her heart. 

“That’s what we need to talk about.”

Dewey let his eyes trail across her form as Molly made her way across the room, a little less ashamed now to be looking so brazenly. The euphoria of kissing her, of telling her, showing her his feelings for her and to not be turned down was still running hot through his body, and he was surprised to find that seeing her kiss Beetlejuice didn’t sting the way it did the night before. This might not be quite the challenge he was expecting it to be.

Molly took the demon’s hand and led him over to where Dewey was standing, waiting. He smiled, shoving his hands almost shyly in his pockets. 

He’d thought they’d come back in to at least banish him in person, and he hadn’t been looking forward to seeing the gloating triumph in the angel’s face. Molly walking over to him, Molly telling him he was staying, Molly kissing him was all unexpected, and Beetlejuice gaped for a moment.

Then while he was stunned she took him over to Dewey, and the angel continued where she’d left off. 

“We decided . . . well, we think we could make this work.” Dewey gestured to the three of them, his hand plunging immediately back into his pocket, a nervous trait he had never managed to shake. “If you wanna give it a try. She obviously cares a lot about you, and . . . I think we could manage. If it makes Molly happy, it’s worth a shot.” 

His brows raised, questioning, hopeful. “What do you say?”

“Make this work?” he repeated stupidly. He glanced back and forth between the two of them, trying to understand what that meant, exactly. “Like, I stay here, and you stay here, and Molly . . .?”

"Yeah," she said encouragingly, squeezing his hand. "I would never make you leave, Beej; if you go, it's because you _want_ to, not because anyone is making you. I told Dewey that as far as I'm concerned, this is your home too. He's willing to keep the peace, and if you're willing to do the same, then there's no reason we can't all stay here."

Still lacing her fingers between his, she leaned her head against his shoulder, reaching out to take Dewey's hand in her free one. "I know it's not going to be easy right off the bat, but . . . I think it's worth a try."

Dewey squeezed her hand gratefully, moving just a bit closer, still a little unsure about how Beetlejuice would react. He still wasn’t sure what all of this meant for his angelic status, but since he hadn’t burst into flame or had his wings vaporized, perhaps . . . perhaps this really could work. Maybe he could gain more than he bargained for.

Slowly, Dewey reached forward with his free hand, skimming his fingertips along the back of Beetlejuice’s hand before tentatively linking their fingers. 

“You know, I’ve never been much of a rule follower. Definitely not when I was alive. So why now, right? If it makes my charge happy to have you here, to have us both here, then what’s so wrong about that?”

If his brain wasn’t so occupied with trying to make all this fit together, he’d had made some biting remark about how that sounded like a pitch for the lamest, most common denominator sit com idea ever: "A Demon, An Angel, And Her!" But Molly was leaning on him, her hair smelling of shampoo and sunlight, and Dewey had stepped closer and took his hand, and that nothing else in the world important right now. 

He already knew how warm Molly was. He was not expecting Dewey to be just as warm, maybe even more, and his fingers twitched against the angel’s, automatically wanting more. 

His brow still furrowed, he knew his hair would be a wild mix of green, yellow, and embarrassingly, pink at the heat from the simple handholding. Fully expecting to be sent away, this option wasn’t one that even crossed his mind. 

The three of them? Here? Together? How--?

Details could be sorted out later. He’d made worse deals, for less.

The pause he took in coming up with his answer made Molly nervous, her stomach rolling into a tight, squirming pit. What if he said no? What if he refused to be around an angel? Would he territorial, possessive, or would he simply leave? Dewey seemed equally anxious, his thumb running back and forth over the back of the demon's pale, shaking hand.

Licking his lips in more a nervous gesture than a sensual one, Beetlejuice nodded. 

“Yeah . . . okay?” He cleared his throat and tried to eliminate the squeak in his voice, to sound more like he’d been earlier: confident and on top of things. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s give it a go.”

Her heart lifted, a smile like the sun coming out from behind the clouds spreading across her face as she squeezed his hand. Molly felt buoyant, hopeful, and perhaps, even genuinely happy for the first time in her adult life. In less than a day, her life had gone from hopeless and empty, to chaotic, to bursting with promise. Maybe that heavy feeling of being beneath a shadow, being cursed, would finally lift. Maybe, finally, she could see the sun.

Dewey's dark brown eyes watched as Beetlejuice's hair flickered in different colors, like a shifting, uncertain kaleidoscope. Did the colors mean something? Certainly every time a new emotion seemed to drift across his face, a new color filtered up like colored water through flower petals.

But then the demon agreed, and Dewey could practically feel Molly's relief as if it were his own, his smile widening as she pressed herself closer to him, her eyes warm and wide as a summer sky. For a brief instant, he saw a glimpse of a future that was hard-won, but peaceful, the three of them able to fill her home corner to corner with life and affection. He would get to be with her, be there for her, in all he ways he couldn't before. Two souls placed on opposite sides of the chessboard could find kinship and mutual respect for one another. It was everything he could have ever dreamed for, and more.

And then it fractured, darkened, shattered when he heard the prim clearing of a throat from her living room, his entire body going cold with dread when he let go of Molly and Beetlejuice's hands, darting around them to see another winged figure, tall and slender as a willow, their wings easily twice as large as his and a deep, rich gold in color. Their head lifted, sculpted brow arching as the cast a disapproving gaze in his direction. A voice that seemed to echo, a voice as androgynous as its maker, filled the room.

"Honestly, fledgling, I expected more from you."

_tbc . . ._


	10. Chapter 10

The relief in the two corraling him was palatable; Beetlejuice hadn’t known that they’d been anxious to have his answer, or that they had obviously been concerned what it may have been. 

Molly relaxed into his side, curling her hand under his arm and smiling beautifully. Dewey’s soft hand squeezed his back, and maybe he was reading into it, but he’d have sworn it was with more than a simple friendly intent. He saw the warm delight in the angel’s dark eyes as they moved from him to her. 

Then, even as Dewey himself reacted to whatever new arrival made itself known, a golden light bright enough cause him pain blinded him. He squinted and ducked as Dewey released him, and he felt Molly scurry behind him, still gripping his arm, asking who that was. A deep thrumming pressure took up residence in his skull and with his free hand he grabbed the side of his head as if pulling his hair would relieve the pain. It didn’t. 

Molly seemed to peek out from behind Beetlejuice, looking frightened and asked softly who this newcomer was. In a voice that nearly shook, Dewey answered.

"That's . . . that's my boss."

With effort, Beetlejuice wrenched open his eyelids as Dewey answered Molly and through watery eyes and with a low moan from the pain, he saw the trespasser. 

The corona surrounding the being lessened; he figured it was more for Molly’s benefit than his own. It did serve to release some of the pressure in his head.

This was an angel as to be expected: heavily winged, androgynous, golden, exuding righteousness. He couldn’t exactly see their face, and he didn’t know if that was because light still blazed from it, or if they simply didn’t have one. 

Dewey had stepped between them and what he called his boss. The other angel towered over them all, even standing several feet away, but Dewey looked determined to stand his ground, even as Beetlejuice could see the faint tremble in his hands. 

As the new angel continued to tsk their disappointment in Dewey, he bristled. He kept Molly behind him, of course, but stepped closer to Dewey. He realized he’d lowered himself, his chin down, watching the angel warily, and that his lips were lifted off his teeth in a silent snarl. His reaction to this celestial was markedly different than when Dewey had arrived; he’d unpack all that later. 

Right now, this was a threat, and he didn’t like that one bit. 

His . . . his boss?? Molly nearly threw up her hands in exasperation, if they hadn't been pinned to her sides with fear; just how many supernatural beings were going to show up in her house over twenty-four hours? Then she saw how Beetlejuice crouched in front of her, lowered into a defensive position as if to protect her, and her heart dropped to the floor. Clearly, this angel posed a threat that Dewey hadn't.

Molly blinked rapidly, trying to clear the purple spots from her vision. Behind them, the new angel seemed to stare at Dewey disapprovingly, despite its apparent lack of facial features. How was it that a holy being could look so . . . unsettling? Out of nowhere, she was hit with a sudden wave of dread, of abject fear, and she blurted without thinking, 

“What do you want?”

The angel turned their focus to her, head cocked almost curiously to the side, as if surprised that she had spoken. That surprise quickly vanished, as they seemed to sigh and dismiss her.

“Quiet, child. You have done enough damage.”

Then, their focus shifted back to Dewey.

“I had such hopes for you, fledgling. You showed such _promise._ And to throw it away for demon and its pet human.” Its tone was chiding, as if scolding a misbehaving child. “It seems you’re in need of _retraining.”_

Dewey didn’t look away from the higher being, wasn’t sure if he could actually tear his eyes away from their radiance if he tried. He should have known better, should have done better; even a small act of rebellion, that single kiss with his charge, a touch and a smile given to a profane presence, it was enough to send his entire future crashing down. He had risked it all, and now, he was about to lose it all. On instinct, on blind obedience, he began to walk toward his superior.

But wait . . . why? Why give it up so easily? Dewey stalled, hands clenched into fists. He had already rebelled, and who knew what this angel would do to the other two once he was out of the way? He didn’t have to put his head down and do as he was told, he didn’t have to obey.

“No. I’m not leaving.”

Again, that almost condescending cock of the head. “Oh? You seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that you have a choice in the matter. Haven’t you done enough, fledgling? Your charge went to bed with the enemy. Despite her obscenities, you’ve lusted after her. You have failed.”

Dewey dug in his heels, wings flashing as he moved to better shield Molly and Beetlejuice. 

“If this gets messy,” he whispered over his shoulder, “take her and run. I can at least get you a head start.”

Maybe their voice was supposed to sound melodious, but to Beetlejuice it grated on his ears. Then again, maybe it wasn't the voice, but what they were saying.

The superior attitude was one thing; he'd expect nothing less from a being that spent their days licking the feet of their god. But the distain. The utter scorn that dripped off them was palatable. This angel that was supposed to be forgiving and the embodiment of love treated Dewey like a toddler. Worse than that, they dismissed Molly as if she was nothing.

He growled so low in his chest it was more a vibration than a sound. The flexing of Dewey's wings covered the slight noise of it. He liked that Dewey had made a stand, and although it was noble to hear the guardian angel offer to take the brunt of whatever was going to come next, Beetlejuice had doubts the match up would be even remotely fair.

He'd give the trespasser a run for their money, though. No way a snotty angel was going to come in here and throw their weight around when Dewey'd made it clear he didn't want any part of celestial bullshit any more.

In three steps he was at Dewey's side, still slightly crouched. If it made him look more dangerous, like a snake coiled to strike, all the better.

He stared the angel directly in their shining face, and snarled,

_"Fuck. Off."_

_Take her and run?_ Molly groaned, nearly rolling her eyes despite the bizarre situation. What an archaic, chauvinistic response. She wasn't about to allow herself to be escorted away like some fragile maiden, especially not now. Life had taken everything from her, everyone she had loved or cared for, and after ages of loneliness and solitude, Death gave something back. An angel and a demon. It wasn't what she had expected, but it was hers. They were hers. And she would be damned--quite literally in this case--if she'd let them go without a fight.

Physically, Molly knew there was nothing she could do against a divine being. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she scrambled to her altar, flipping through her grimoire. The spell she had been looking for when Dewey had first arrived specified that guardian angels couldn't be banished. But an angel with no ties to her? She might have a chance.

Fortunately for her, the angel's focus was centered on the two inhumans, not considering for a moment that the girl might pose a threat. 

"You dare speak to me, demon? I should have stepped in the moment you polluted the air here with your presence. Perhaps then my subordinate would have not been tempted to rebel.” They raised a hand, their fingers long and slender and glowing, aimed like a weapon straight at Beetlejuice’s chest. “No matter. I’ll suffer your impertinence no longer.” 

A golden spear, or at least concentrated light in the shape of one, appeared in their hand, then with an air of one swatting a pesky fly, they loosed it directly at the demon.

Dewey’s eyes widened as he saw the bolt gather in their hand, knew what an attack like that would do; angels like this didn’t aim to wound or incapacitate, they went straight for the kill. Without a thought, with only a split second to act, he jumped in the path of the spear, taking the brunt of the hit, though a fragment broke off and struck the eastern wall, the glass in the window shattering as bits of drywall scattered across the floor.

To him, that attack wasn’t fatal, but that didn’t keep it from hurting like a son of a bitch, and he dropped to his knees, wings drawn tight to his body as he cried out. His mouth filled with fluid, and he coughed, a bit shocked to see bright blood spatter across the carpet. Frantic, he looked up to make sure nothing had hit Molly, was relieved to see that she was unhurt, and got shakily back to his feet.

“How did I ever believe you douchebags were righteous?” 

How had he never seen it before, the hypocrisy, the snobbish air of superiority, the disdain for anything that wasn’t them? Humans were to be guarded, protected, but they’d just spoken to Molly as if she were . . . as if she were nothing. They’d launched an attack with her in the room, uncaring for her safety. If she had been hit . . .!

“Get out of here,” he said softly to the demon, his wings slowly unfurling again to hide him from the angel’s wrath. 

He couldn’t fight, wasn’t built for it nor trained for it; aside from his bare hands, he had no weapons to speak of. However, when it came to celestial fury, he was a bit more durable than a demon would be. There was no doubt that he didn’t stand a chance against his superior, and would more than likely be killed. But if the two of them escaped, it would be worth it. He could at least die knowing the truth, that these higher celestials simply didn’t give a damn. 

“Beetlejuice. Get Molly and go.”

Pushed off balance by Dewey throwing himself in front of him and taking the hit intended for him, Beetlejuice was shoved back and, on all fours, caught himself by digging his nails into the carpet, leaving furrows. Dewey had _saved him--_ that fact echoed through his brain. The celestial weapon obviously hurt. The guardian angel had curled tightly on himself, and Beetlejuice didn't miss seeing the blood that fell from his mouth.

He almost grinned hearing Dewey deride the being still looking over the three of them with contempt. But when Molly's guardian's wings opened again, and the order was given to go, it was plain he'd planned to sacrifice himself for the two of them. The start of the grin was replaced with a shake of his head, which Dewey couldn't see.

Through a mouthful of teeth that had become sharp points, Beetlejuice replied quietly to the angel,

"With all due respect, baby, that's not going to fucking happen."

Without waiting for a response, Beetlejuice scrambled forward on all fours, skidding under Dewey's wings--the feathers left soft burning trails where they touched skin--and launched himself at the taller angel. 

A flash of pointed teeth and an inhuman murmur was all the warning he had before Beetlejuice lunged for the angel, loping forward on all fours like an animal. Dewey winced as he healed, the injury sustained from the burst knitting together as he stumbled forward toward the grappling pair. He had to help, had to do _something,_ angels like this were trained to kill demons without mercy or hesitation. It was his duty to protect his charge, and unfettered by the chains of angelic bureaucracy, he could now extend that protection to the things she held dear. Despite the dire situation, Dewey had to admit that it felt good to act as he wanted for once.

The demon’s pounce had knocked the angel into the northern wall, and Dewey couldn’t tell which shrieks belonged to who. It was clear that they hadn’t been expecting such a bold attack, but that surprise would only buy them a couple moments’ advantage. Dewey leaped onto the angel’s back, wrenching at the joint of the wings, doing his best to hold on despite the writhing of his adversary.

In rage, the angel’s face seemed to melt into a pillar of white flame, a tremulous, ululating pitch warbling from their form. One hand, similarly sheathed in holy fire, reached back at Dewey trying to pry him from their wings, while its twin closed around a writhing black mass that had seemed to spring from the demon’s back. There was a sickening squelch and the acrid smell of something burning, then the mass was torn from its source, the angel taking advantage of the loosening of the demon’s grip to fling him backward, trailing dark blood.

He'd rushed the trespasser and had the satisfaction of surprising them, springing forward and knocking them off balance. This fucking angel wanted to loose holy weapons? He'd bring infernal ones. Tentacles, black as pitch, erupted from him, immediately engulfing the angel, doing their best to squeeze the life out of them. Their shadow mass added to his weight, bearing the angel down; Dewey had appeared into the fray atop his boss--ex-boss!--and that helped too.

When the angel dislodged their summoned weapon at Beetlejuice, Molly jolted forward, trying to get to her feet and stumbling over her altar. She cried out, sick with fear, desperate to do something, _anything,_ but Dewey beat her to it, taking the majority of the blow. When a splinter of light ricocheted away from the rest, she screamed, ducking her head as it burst into the wall, leaving a decent hole in the drywall and blowing out the window. It had bounced away from her, thankfully, but she couldn’t have cared less about her own safety, feeling bile rise into her throat at the sight of Dewey spitting blood onto her carpet before getting to his feet, following Beetlejuice’s leap into the fray. She had to do something, and do it _fast._

Shaking hands struggled to find the correct page, and it was hard to focus on the words when there were grunts, pained cries, and ear-splitting shrieks sounding from across the room, the house shaking on its foundations as her living room was turned into a biblical battleground. A thread of blood trailed down her lip as she gnawed at it, the pain helping her focus through the terror. The ingredients, while not common for her normal spellwork, were nonetheless easy to find in her stores. All but one. It listed _"blood of the enemy"_ as the catalyst, the binder, the agent that would give the banishment spell its power; the book helpfully specified that she would need demon blood. At the top of the page, it specified that this spell was mostly a theory, that angels were wholly benevolent presences and could simply be asked to leave, and that the risk to obtain demon blood was too great. Lucky for her, she had a source. She just had to pray that the spell would actually work.

Beetlejuice laughed , a feral scream of a laugh right in the angel's not-quite there face. Attention divided by trying to dislodge Dewey, who was doing his damnedest to remove a wing, it seemed, and Beetlejuice himself, he leaned forward and bit where anything remotely human would have lips and a nose.

The light he encountered burned like a motherfucker and he threw his head back, regretting his mistake. It served only to draw all the angel's focus on him, and even wrapped so tightly his limbs looked like they'd been dipped in tar the angel managed to twist multiple tentacles in their grip. Wretch mightily, his tentacles were torn from him. He screamed at the pain and automatically curled a little, giving the angel enough leverage to throw him off, to the floor. Blood, darker than what had dripped from Dewey's mouth, splattered on the floor.

A third of his tentacles were still in the angel's grip. From the floor, Beetlejuice watched them wither and turn to dust in the angel's hand.

"Please," the angel invited, "do that again so I can absolve you of more of those abominations."

The taunting sneer in their voice made him snarl wordlessly again, and despite feeling slightly crippled, Beetlejuice pushed himself off the carpet and rushed forward again. 

Dewey’s grip almost went slack at the sight of those wriggling black shapes that sprouted forth from Beetlejuice’s back, torn apart like party streamers as they threw the demon back, but he tightened his hold, grabbing and twisting until he felt a series of pops within the joint. The angel let loose a shriek of pain that shattered all the glass in the house, bottles of liquor bursting in the cabinets, windows blowing out as one golden wing went horribly askew.

For a moment, Dewey was worried about Beetlejuice, his appendages severed and thrown like a rag doll across the room. But he had to admire the demon’s tenacity, shaking himself off with a snarl and rushing forward again, undaunted. Who would have guessed it, that a guardian angel and a demon would fight side by side against a force of heaven?

However, when Beetlejuice lunged again, the angel held both hands in front of themself, as if to ward him off, and a burst of the same white flame that flickered across their body knocked him to the floor, pinning him there, searing the flesh of his chest. Similarly, something grabbed Dewey around the neck and flung him to the ground, pinned right next to the demon, the two of them trapped, powerless.

Beetlejuice rushed forward and suddenly found himself on his back again, held like a moth on a pin. No amount of struggling, even anger and pain fueled struggling made a difference. He watched Dewey dislocate the fucker's wing and tried to shout something triumphant but the pressure on his chest increase and nothing could be exhaled.

It didn't matter anyway; in the next second the guardian angel was slammed to the floor beside him. The superior angel, their voice dripping with disappointment, contempt, and a little smidgen of glee, produced the implements that would decisively end this fight.

_“Enough!”_ The angel’s scream was piercing, its wing moving back into place with a nauseating crunch. “Enough of this.” 

The holy fire ebbed, leaving their featureless form to somehow glower down upon their two pinned adversaries. 

“I did hope it wouldn’t come to this, fledgling. It pains my Father to see the underlings fall.” 

The tongues of fire that pinned them clinked and rattled like chains as they tightened. 

“But being complicit to this stain? Allowing your charge to continue its path into damnation? That would have been disgraceful enough, but then you had to succumb to the sin of lust. You were all too happy to join it on its journey into Hell so long as it looked at you. Pathetic,” it sneered. “Still clinging to the last shreds of your human self. No more. We are well rid of filth like you.” 

Those spears appeared in their hands again, aimed at their throats, poised to strike with deadly force. Dewey did the only thing he could think of, and reached over to take Beetlejuice’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

To his surprise, Beetlejuice felt Dewey grab his hand and squeeze. He returned it, and would have smiled if it didn't feel like his chest was about to be crushed.

Molly screamed when Beetlejuice screamed, her fear echoing his pain as he was thrown back. She reached for him, yelling for him to stay put, that she needed something from him, but he either didn’t hear her or ignored her entirely, plunging back into the madness. Damn! She still needed his blood, without it the spell was useless.

Then, she saw the severed, twitching end of one of his tentacles, something she hadn’t even known he’d had. Though, as she watched him fight, she began to notice more and more demonic attributes. Sharper teeth, longer nails, increased agility. And that wriggling mass, bursting from his spine, like a mockery of angelic wings. Thinking quickly, she darted forward and nabbed the bit of flesh, cold as ice in her hands and covering her fingers in a slick, greasy ichor.

“Sorry, Beej,” she muttered as she pulled a small penknife from her keyring, slicing into the severed limb and squeezing as much blood from it as possible, the viscous liquid dripping into the bowl with the rest of the essential herbs. Molly muttered a prayer over it, then used the penknife to prick her own finger, adding a drop of her blood to the concoction and stirring it with her fingers, wincing as it started to sting. 

She looked up to see the angel pinning Dewey and Beetlejuice the floor, spitting venom at the two as they conjured the death-dealing weapons to their hands. 

“No,” she whispered, dipping her hand into the bowl and sprinting across the room to the angel, which was so focused on its prey that it took no notice of her. 

Like an Amazonian warrior, Molly appeared, carrying a bowl that had liquid sloshing from the rim.

“Hey,” she yelled, the featureless face lifting just in time for her to smear the handful of herbs and blood all over it. Baring her teeth, with as much venom as she could muster, she hissed,

_”Go to hell.”_

They screeched as if burned, then in a brilliant burst of flame, they were gone, thrown from the house, leaving the space hauntingly quiet in its absence.

It was gone.

The force of the spell sent her hurtling backwards, landing on her back in a patch of broken glass. She winced as she felt the shards slice through her shirt, hissed at the sting of drawn blood, but she didn’t care about her own pain at the moment, getting to her feet and darting back to them. Molly immediately fell to her knees beside the two, her heart lurching in her chest when she saw scorch marks on Beetlejuice’s chest, similar marks ringing Dewey’s throat.

Beetlejuice didn't release Dewey's hand. He tried to sit up, found that he was too weak, and flopped his free arm towards Molly. He managed that smile when she took it.

"Go to hell," he croaked. "Good one, baby. Sounds like you've got your own action movie catch phrase now."

She took his hand when he reached for her, lifting it to her lips to kiss it briefly. It was a relief to hear him speak, to see his lips quirk up in a smile; if he could make jokes, he was going to be okay. 

“Every fight scene needs a Schwarzenegger moment,” she replied, returning his smile with one of her own.

_tbc . . ._


	11. Chapter 11

For a moment, Dewey didn’t quite realize what had happened. He saw Molly run toward the angel, her hand dark with something, speaking words he couldn’t decipher over the ringing in his ears, and then a searing light like a bursting star filled the room. Then, silence. He gasped, air rushing back into his lungs as the choking pressure around his throat was suddenly gone, and through the purple spots in his vision. he saw the angel was gone as well.

Molly looked over at Dewey, who despite gasping for air, looked as if he would be alright; a shaky thumbs' up confirmed that he was unhurt aside for the burns around his neck. Nodding, she got to her feet, grabbing the bowl and dipping her fingers into it again. Methodically, she painted the dark mixture on every doorway, every window, effectively creating a seal around her home so that the angel couldn’t return.

When that was done, the empty bowl slipped from her fingers, clattering against the floor as she knelt beside the two of them. Dark blood stained her hands, dotted the back of her shirt, and there was drywall powder in her hair, but all she saw was them, all she felt was relief that they were okay. And, she noticed with a smile, Dewey hadn’t let go of Beej’s hand.

The angel sat up, checking himself over; his throat hurt, but other than that, he just felt a little bruised. Molly began smearing a dark substance on the doorframes, the sills of the blown-out windows, and he turned to Beetlejuice, recognizing the dark substance spattered around him to be blood. 

"You okay?" he rasped, squeezing the demon's hand.

Molly soon returned, and he realized what she had done. He could smell the blood on her hands. The angel couldn't return. For now, they were safe. Dewey felt weak with relief, though his brow furrowed with concern when he noticed that not all of the blood was Beetlejuice's. Dewey scrambled up to his knees, ignoring the ache in his back as he did so, joining Molly at Beetlejuice’s side. 

"You're both still bleeding…"

Slowly coming around, Beetlejuice realized Dewey hadn't released his hand, and when Molly returned she took his other one again. It was something else to focus on besides his face feeling like it was burned from the ill-advised attempt to bite the angel, his chest feeling like it was slowly inflating back into place, and the generalized agony of that came from some of his shadow mass being torn from him.

He also became slowly aware he tasted blood in his mouth, but it wasn't until Dewey actually said the words, "You're both bleeding" that he realized blood was pouring out of his nose.

His first concern at that statement was Molly, however, and once again he attempted to sit up. Once again, he was unable.

Feeling helpless because he was too weak, he asked loudly,

"Molly--are you okay? _Did that angel touch you?!"_

He was aware it sounded like he was asking about an assault of a different kind, but he didn't care, and didn't want to think about what that angel would have done to her.

"Dewey--what about you?"

The more she looked at him, the more injured Beetlejuice appeared to be, his chest burned black and sunken, his face an angry red, blood trickling from his nose and mouth. He didn't even appear to have the strength to sit up on his own. And here he was worried about her. She shook her head, once again lifting his hand to her lips, since it seemed to be the only place she could touch without hurting him. 

"No, no, sweetheart, they didn’t touch me, I just fell back into some glass. They're just scratches, I promise, I'm _fine."_

She looked over at Dewey, who had joined her kneeling by the demon's side. Concern was etched into his face, in the crease of his brow and the downward turn of his mouth, and Molly noticed that the ring around his throat was already fading.

“I’m okay,” he promised, looking over at her as she kissed his knuckles. Dewey would heal more quickly from an angel attack than he would, since holy fire was designed to be harmful to demons. But he could help. He could take some of the pain away, if he worked quickly.

“Take a deep breath,” he advised, gingerly placing his hands on Beetlejuice’s chest, ignoring the disquieting texture of burnt flesh beneath his palms. “I’ve never done this on a demon before, so it might hurt a bit.” 

His hands began to pulse with that golden light, and at first, nothing seemed to happen. Would he even be able to help, or would angelic contact make the wounds worse?

But then skin started to knit back together, the blistered red disappearing from the demon’s face as the scorches were healed, his chest no longer having that terrible sunken look. Relief smoothed out his brow, Molly smiling gratefully over at him as she held Beej’s hand. He couldn’t hold the healing pulses for long, though, and soon the glow faded, his hands shaking a little as they dropped back at his sides.

“Any better?”

His chest felt less like a truck had parked on it, and the skin on his face felt completely mobile again instead of stiff and crackly, uncared for leather. There was still a bone-deep ache throughout his body from his tentacles torn from their roots, but he didn’t expect Dewey to be able to help with that. He hadn’t thought an angel would help heal him in the first place.

His tentacles had retreated to their realm when the superior angel had pinned him, not able to withstand the holy light the being had concentrated on them. Shadow couldn’t exist without light, but too much overwhelmed it in this case. 

“Every angel is terrible,” Beetlejuice muttered, afraid of what permanent damage the angel may have done to him. He stare up at the ceiling, before seeing the surprised and offended expressions on the other’s faces at the statement he’d just made. “Rainer Maria Rilke. The _Duino Elegies?_ The second elegy? Eh, forget it.”

At least now he could sit up with minimal assistance. Doing so, he decided to leave early 20th century lyrical German poetry behind. Instead, he praised with a groan,

“Magic hands. Thank you.” Looking Dewey straight in the eye he gave him a half smirk. “I bet those magic hands feel good in lots of places.”

A sigh of relief passed her lips when she saw Beetlejuice come back to more of his normal self, though she could only imagine how sore he must be from taking the brunt of the angel’s attacks. She sat back on her heels, furrowing her brow a little at his crack about angels. When he clarified its source, the name somewhat familiar to her, she smiled. Molly was fairly certain she had that book on her shelves somewhere; perhaps she’d pull it down and give that particular poem a closer read once things had settled back down.

She hid a more knowing smile behind her hand at the flirtatious statement, rising to her feet with a groan. While certainly not a life threatening injury, her back felt raw and stinging from the cuts and abrasions, and her living room was in shambles. 

“Dewey, can you get Beej up and take him into the bedroom? I’ll be in a second, I’ve got to at least get the glass off the floor.” 

Sooner or later she would have to take a shower and get all the blood and bits of glass out of her back, but she was dreading doing so. Ignoring the sticky pools of spilled liquor on her kitchen floor, she carefully picked her way to the supplies closet to dig out the broom, getting the glass and drywall off the floor. That fucking angel really had to go and break every glass in the house, didn’t they?

While Molly seemed to understand the reference, or at least the allusion to poetry, Dewey looked confused, his head cocking to the side like a Labrador trying to decipher a sound its never heard before. His hands twitched toward Beetlejuice as he sat up carefully, groaning deep as he did so, but he seemed to be able to hold himself up on his own. Indeed, his injuries seemed healed enough for him to have the energy to flirt. 

Dewey flushed beet red, quickly looking down at his hands, though his wings gave a rather pleased ruffle quite on their own. He stammered, not quite sure how to respond, not quite sure how he _should_ respond, and was grateful when Molly gave him something to do. He helped Beetlejuice to his feet, steadying him by slinging one striped arm over his shoulder, and got him to the bedroom, sitting him down on sheets that were still rumpled from sleep. 

“Is . . . Is there anything else I can do to help?” 

He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, feeling a heavy shift in the air between them, unsure how to proceed but wanting to make the effort to continue the peace between them. Looking down at the carpet, he sighed. 

"I'm sorry, by the way . . . I didn't want you to get hurt."

If it'd been his choice, Beetlejuice would have ignored the mess of a partially wrecked house and the broken glass everywhere, but he also knew breathers tended to be concerned about things like that, so when Molly left his side to start cleaning, he didn't tell her he'd rather just have her come back to bed. 

Instead, it was the angel who helped him up and took him to the privacy of the bedroom. With his own arm over Dewey's shoulder and a reciprocal warm arm around his waist, he hobbled back to the bed. Just the short walk winded him, and he sat staring at the floor for a second, even as Dewey gingerly took a seat beside him. 

"I'll be okay," he replied, and flicked a glance over at his companion at the apology. 

Dewey looked nervous, or anxious, or -- Beetlejuice had no energy to devote to puzzling out what worry the angel had. Although he'd taken to fidgeting with his hands in his lap again, the demon reached over and stilled them with a squeeze over both. 

"Hey. Dewey. _I'll be okay._ You were obviously trying to protect me and Molly and being all altruistic and angelic and stuff, but you think I was going to let you hog all the glory? You think I was gonna let you give your boss the boot and look like a damn hero in front of Molly? So she'd be all starry-eyed and hot for you, her savior--so she'd forget about me and fall into your arms? So she'd maybe even banish me, and you'd have her all to yourself?" 

He turned a narrowed eye stare at the angel, whose eyes widened in return at the accusations. Beetlejuice let the tension ride for a moment, but when Dewey continued to look stricken, he knew the joke had fallen well off the mark. He shook his head and tried to amend the poor tease.

"Nah, I'm just joking! That thing was a prick. How could I resist an ill-advised attack on an angel?" he replied. "You didn't want it here, _Molly_ didn't want it here. She'd already told me you and I could stay here together . . . was I just supposed to let that prick take away the best things I ever got?" 

He squeezed Dewey's hands again, and weaseled his own hand between the angel's. Man, that warmth was addictive. Glancing down at himself, he saw his shirt had been scorched and his tie charred. Fucking angel and its fucking holy fire. 

"I'm gonna take my shirt off. It's ruined, and I can't imagine Molly's gonna want ash in her bed . . ." 

Before Dewey could give any indication whether he was uncomfortable with him half naked again, Beetlejuice's shirt, tie, and jacket were gone. Sitting next to the angel wearing only pants must be his new thing. 

He wanted nothing more than to curl up in the sheets and blankets and be surrounded by Molly's scent, but she hadn't returned to the bedroom yet. With a sigh, he eased to rest against Dewey's shoulder. He felt the angel's wing brush against his back, and he smiled.

A jolt rippled through him, caused equally by surprise at the touch and shock at his cold hand, but it was quick and hardly noticeable. The furrow of his brow, however, was prominent as Beetlejuice seemed to quickly accuse him of fighting the angel for his own gains, primarily Molly’s affections. It didn’t dawn on him that the demon was teasing until he spelled it out for him; only then did he relax, laughing a bit at being unable to grasp the joke. In his defense, the healing he had done, not to mention the fighting itself, had taken a great deal out of him, he couldn’t remember being this exhausted. So when a cool hand pushed itself between his, he didn’t protest, pressing his palms around it in a gentle squeeze. 

Dewey only nodded when Beetlejuice announced that his shirt was coming off; he’d noticed it was singed and scorched around the chest, and couldn’t possibly still be wearable. Besides, he’d grown used to the sight of him shirtless, and especially under the circumstances, the last thing in the world he felt was uncomfortable. Even as a cool cheek pressed against his shoulder, head resting heavily against him, he smiled at how strangely natural it felt, tucking a wing protectively around him. The sensation of feathers brushing bare skin was new to him, and Dewey would be lying if he said he didn’t like it 

“I’m, uh . . . ” He started lamely, clearing his throat before starting again. “I’m glad you’re here. Molly wouldn’t have been able to banish the angel if you weren’t, and . . . I’m also sorry for some of the things I said about you. Y’know, before.” 

The part unspoken was, “Before he had broken free of the near brainwashing of the angelic hierarchy, before he had discovered for himself that demons weren’t the mindless forces of evil he’d believed them to be, before he had known that Beetlejuice was just as lonely and desperate for companionship as he was.” He hoped the demon knew all that. 

Molly did the best she could to clean up, sweeping up the crumbled drywall and shards of glass into somewhat neat piles, sopping up as much liquid as she could off the kitchen floor, and draping towels over the yawning holes of her busted windows. They would have to be boarded up until she could get them replaced, and the kitchen floor would need scrubbed, and she would need to find a way to patch the walls and get the debris out into the garbage can . . . but that could wait. 

The spell had drained her, mentally and physically, and when she glanced outside, she noticed that the sun had almost finished setting, the world painted in deep shades of indigo and violet. Time must have flowed differently inside her house while the other angel was here. No wonder she was so tired. With the floors swept and the windows covered, it was good enough. 

All she wanted was to join the two of them in the bedroom, but she had to shower first, or the scrapes on her back might get infected. It was quick, the water cool to ease the stinging, and a few tentative passes with a washcloth got the bits of glass out. 

Here, she ran into a bit of a dilemma. There was no way she was going to be able to comfortably sleep with a shirt on, not with so many raw scrapes and scratches on her back. She doubted Beej would have much of an issue with her going topless, but it might be a little much for her angel to handle. 

“Oh well,” she whispered to herself, “he’s gonna have to come to grips with the fact that I have tits sooner or later.”

She did at least throw her sleep shorts back on and wrapped a towel around her chest before walking into the bedroom, smiling fondly at the sight of Beetlejuice leaning heavily against Dewey, who had one wing folded gently over his upper body, their hands clasped. They both looked equally drained, nearly asleep just sitting there, and she couldn’t help bending to press a kiss to both foreheads. 

“You two look exhausted,” she said, stroking her hands through their hair. “Do you want to try sleeping? I’m wrecked.” 

Molly climbed into the bed, leaving the towel behind, and held open the covers for the two of them to join her. At least, she hoped they would.

Beetlejuice was vaguely aware of the sounds Molly made: sweeping, the water in the shower, and now her padding across the bedroom floor to stand in front of them. The warm touch of her lips and breath near his hairline and her fingers in his hair nearly made him purr. 

When she stopped and he felt the mattress dip as she climbed onto it, he opened his eyes and twisted to see her settling at the head of the bed with an expectant air. Although he still felt like he'd been rolled by a truck, Beetlejuice grinned when he saw she was topless. With a grin he nudged Dewey in a "hey lookit that, bro!" manner before pushing himself off the edge of the bed too. 

It was a slower move to upright than he expected; it seemed like his muscles had seized up a little. Carefully he turned and crawled up the bed to Molly's left, so he could sleep on his less injured right side. That trespassing angel had torn out a hunk of tentacles from his left side, the sinistra. Maybe they'd done that on purpose. Maybe they'd attempted to strip away some of the evil they thought was in him. Maybe he was delirious from exhaustion and pain, and overthinking all that. 

Shaking his head, as he settled into the mattress, he called down to Dewey, 

"Hey. You joinin' us or what? It's an exclusive club, and Molly's offering you a membership. Price of admission is taking off your shirt, like us," he said with a grin, enjoying watching pink creep up the angel's cheeks.

Dewey's eyelids felt as though they’d had lead weight attached to them, heavy even as Molly came close, smelling so warm and sweet from the rose-scented soap she used in the shower. The kiss to his forehead made him hum, and he felt the vibration of Beetlejuice doing the same beside him. Only when an elbow sank into his side did he lift his head and look up, and immediately felt a hot flush creep from the tips of his ears to the top of his chest. He hadn’t expected to see her . . . like this. Not yet, anyway. Not so soon. All the years of turning his back, leaving the room, giving her at least that modicum of privacy, and now, he finally got to see what he could only create in his mind’s eye. She was just as beautiful as he’d imagined, maybe more so. 

He felt frozen in place by the sight as Beetlejuice slid into the bed beside her, Molly turning to face him and lay her head against his shoulder. When the demon spoke, grinning and beckoning him into the bed with them, he got clumsily to his feet. A twinge of self-consciousness rippled cold through him as he worked his way out of his shirt, the sweater vest getting momentarily caught on his wings, but he was too tired to feel it entirely. 

Cautiously, he slid into the bed behind Molly, careful not to brush up against her back. He could see how scraped up and red it looked, and could only imagine that was why she had gone shirtless. He wanted to heal her, wanted to see her skin smooth and whole, but he just didn’t have it in him tonight. He pressed as close as he dared, her body heat intoxicating, and draped one arm over her waist. She didn’t protest, settling down between them, and he smiled, laying his head on the pillow as he pulled the covers up around the three of them. Like an extra blanket, his wing draped over them as well, soft and protective.

Molly happily settled against Beetlejuice’s bare chest, his skin cold at first but warming beneath her, affirming his invite to Dewey with a sleepy smile and a nod. The angel crawled into the bed behind her as if she were made of glass, his movements slow and deliberate, his arm wonderfully heavy and warm as it settled in the curve of her waist. She had never felt safer, being held between them, nor more loved. In that vulnerable moment between waking and sleep, her loneliness felt like a distant memory, and a single tear slipped from her eye, unnoticed and gone in an instant. 

_tbc . . ._


	12. Chapter 12

They slept through the night with barely a stir, the sun already well risen by the time Molly slowly came to. The angel and the demon's arms were still curled around her, and she noticed with a smile that Beej was breathing slowly, his chest a soothing rise and fall, even though he had no need to. It felt natural, then, to press a kiss to his chest, just beneath his collarbones, her hand sliding down to link her fingers with Dewey’s. It felt so good to have them close, to feel their bodies surrounding her. Another kiss drifted across pale skin, lower now, her hair falling over her face as she pulled Dewey’s arm tighter around herself, resting his palm on her stomach. She wasn’t sure when they would wake, but just this quiet moment of feeling them around her was enough. For now, at least.

He didn't really sleep, per se, but drifted dangerously close to the void of pure nothingness. It was tempting, but the warmth beside him and the soft brush of a kiss reeled him back. He didn't remember Molly having a down comforter, until he realized it was an angelic wing draped over them. His upper arm lay under and it gradually dawned on him his hand was on her back, caught between her and Dewey. 

Moving it was going to rouse the angel. 

"Rouse the angel," he snorted quietly to himself. "That's what she said . . ." 

His chuckle at his own clever inappropriate joke shook him, and he opened his eyes to find Molly watching him, sleepy but with light amusement in her eyes. Speaking of rousing the angel, some time after crawling under the sheets he'd lost his trousers. He didn't remember consciously willing them away; it must have been when he realized how uncomfortable it might be for Molly to have fabric pressed against her while she slept--nah, it was totally for him, because if he had the opportunity to be naked next to someone, he just took it. 

Of course, that made it more difficult to hide any arousal, but was it something to be hidden? 

Trying not to move too much again, he returned a kiss to her forehead.

It was hard to keep herself quiet when the first words she heard that morning were a racy joke, but she did her best to keep her shoulders from shaking too much and stifled a snort of laughter in Beetlejuice’s chest, glancing up at him and feeling a little ripple of affection when she saw his eyes looking back at her, a sly smile on his mouth. His arm shifted a little, and she felt that it was pinned beneath her body, his fingers resting on her lower back, which thankfully had minimal injury and was mostly safe to touch. She almost asked if he wanted her to sit up so he could move it, then realized that no blood flow most likely meant his arm wouldn’t fall asleep, and so she settled closer to him, humming softly when he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his entire body warm from spending a night absorbing their trapped heat beneath the blankets. 

“Morning, sweetheart.” 

In moving closer, Molly’s leg shifted along his, and it was then she noticed that his pants were gone. She was sure he’d gotten into bed with them, but yet, it seemed as if he was lying completely naked next to her, as a half-innocent press of her thigh confirmed. Her cheeks turned a soft pink, her stomach fluttering with sudden arousal, and her sleepy smile turned more coy, perhaps a touch suggestive. Her hand smoothed up his chest, teasingly close to his nipple but skirting it at the last moment, as she lifted her head to press her lips to his. 

“I’d ask if you slept okay, but you seem fully recovered to me.”

As lightly as Beetlejuice slept, or dozed, or whatever demons did, Dewey was conversely out cold, his slumber deep and dreamless. He curled close around Molly, his arm banding around her waist, legs still clad in khakis tangling somewhere between hers and the demon’s. He didn’t have a need for sleep, since guardians were supposed to watch after their charges day and night without fail, but he had been in dire need of some rest, so even with the rough rumble of Beetlejuice’s voice and Molly’s stifled laughter, he barely stirred, only mumbling something incoherent and pressing himself closer to her. 

What did cause him to slowly come around, however, was Molly shifting her legs; pushing her thigh up against Beetlejuice inadvertently caused her to push back into the cradle of his pelvis, and even though the thick curtain of sleep, the pressure against his groin made his hips rock up into her, a soft sigh moving the strands of hair that fell across the back of her neck. He still wasn’t awake, wasn’t truly aware of what was going on, his body reacting on subconscious instinct.

"Let's say ninety percent recovered," Beetlejuice replied quietly. 

His tentacles were in their pocket realm and not visible, but there was still a raw ache from their amputation. It might take him some time to heal from the wound that angel gave him, if it ever even did completely. He half wished Dewey'd torn that fucker's wing _off._ An eye for an eye, wasn't that in their book? 

But it was hard to stay angry with Molly sliding her leg against his and her hand on his chest, and now her tongue nudging against his lips for entry. He opened his mouth with a sigh and the tip of his chill tongue met the warmth of hers. Speaking of hard . . . he pushed his knee under hers so her leg was atop his. There was no mistaking his arousal now, even blocked by her thin pants. The position also put his leg in direct contact with Dewey's. 

The angel didn't seem to have gotten rid of his trousers overnight, which made Beetlejuice roll his eyes without breaking the kiss. Maybe he'd have to do a little (corrupting) _coaching_ and get him out of that celestial mindset. Then again, he had felt the subtle push that rocked Molly a little more tightly against him. He grinned through the kiss. 

"You don't seem too shy with me on one side and your angel on the other, baby," he muttered into her mouth. "What's your pleasure this morning?"

Her brow furrowed slightly as he confirmed that he wasn’t all the way healed; he looked just fine to her, no scarring or bruising to be seen, and then she remembered those wriggling appendages that had been brutally torn from him. Did they heal as easily? Was what remained of them causing him pain? It didn’t seem to be the case, with the way his mouth opened to greet her tongue with his, or the way his leg slipped between hers to press himself more firmly between her thighs, but she wouldn’t put it past him to ignore his injuries when getting laid was on the table. 

Molly groaned softly, wanting to continue the kiss, to leave the moment alone and see where it led them, but she gently broke the kiss and pushed herself up, elbow bent to support her head in her hand. 

“My pleasure is making sure that you’re okay,” she murmured, stroking her hand down his chest once more, though it felt less teasing and more methodical. “Can we . . . can we do this without hurting you? If you’re not fully healed, I can wait until you are.” 

And then there was the prospect of Dewey; the rock of his hips against her backside hadn’t escaped her notice either. She didn’t feel entirely comfortable having sex next to his sleeping form, but if he was awake . . . and _participating_ . . . well, she wouldn’t be opposed to that at all. 

As she broke the kiss and propped herself up, he muttered, "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

“So, question. If you are up for it, would you be open to the idea of Dewey joining? He, uh . . . seems about as eager as you do, even if he isn’t awake yet.”

He tried to kiss her again, but she didn't accept it, asking him about Dewey. As if he would say no, there was no way he'd be interested in some action with an angel. Like that was a deal breaker.

The feathered wings that still draped over them fluttered. Beetlejuice dragged the back of his hand down them lightly. He wondered if Dewey liked his wings touched, or if he couldn't feel when they were.

The one push of his hips led to subtle, hardly there rocking motions, the movements of the other two occupants of the bed bringing him closer and closer to the surface. He could hear them murmuring, though the words sounded muffled and incomprehensible, like radio chatter between stations. White noise. His wing fluttered gently over them, shivering as if in response to the minute friction he was getting from rutting against Molly. 

Only when his name was spoken did he open his eyes, still not quite grasping the topic of their conversation. He blinked, sighed, nuzzling into the back of Molly’s neck and inhaling a deep breath, the smell of her hair filling him. She was so warm, he had never known warmth like this in all his-- 

Suddenly, he realized that he was touching her. Holding her. _Rubbing against her._ Her body was tugged right up against his, his hand on her bare stomach, his groin flush with the curve of her ass. He had never seen this much of her skin before, let alone touched it, and he was sucker-punched with a bolt of insecurity and panic that he had overstepped his bounds. He sat bolt upright, drawing his wings tight to his back and scooting back against the wall, away from the two of them. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, flushed with equal parts shame, embarrassment, and arousal. “I-I didn’t mean to . . . ”

Beetlejuice opened his mouth to answer her, when Dewey threw himself upright and backwards, pushed against the wall. The movement was unexpected and startling, as was the apology. Instinctively Beetlejuice ducked his head and watched the angel warily, pulling Molly closer. He relaxed as she did, even if she was as surprised as he was. Her hand had gone to her throat.

Beetlejuice answered the angel's aborted sentence first.

"Sorry for what, baby?" he asked. "I certainly didn't mind what you were doing. I can't imagine Molly did either."

The sudden scrambling of the angel startled her, and she turned quickly, a soft gasp of surprise accompanying the reflexive press of her hand at the base of her throat. At the burst of movement, she had turned onto her other side, not missing the way Beetlejuice’s arm had lifted to pull her in close, tensed as if to shield her. Perhaps the abrupt motion and flutter of angelic wings had startled him too.

The soft purr just behind her ear answered her question, though it was directed at Dewey, and she smiled, realizing how unsure he must feel about their situation. 

“Not at all, honey, you have nothing to be sorry for.” That soft, minutely coy smile curled on her lips as she leaned forward, reaching for his hand and pulling him back to the center of the bed, back to the gathered warmth of their bodies. “In fact, we all seem to have had the same idea.”

Softly, Molly pressed her lips to his, lingering as he tensed and pulling back only when he had relaxed again. Reclining languidly against Beetlejuice, her fingers gently stroked over Dewey’s chest, wondering if he’d like being touched there as much as her demon did, though he was without piercings. He shuddered beneath the touch, and her smile widened, hooking her fingers in the belt loops of his pants to tug him closer, close enough to be touched by them both.

“I know you want to, sweetie, it’s okay.”

He had half-expected Molly to be disgusted with him, for Beetlejuice to be enraged with possessiveness by his helpless show of interest in the woman, for both of them to banish him from the bedroom. Then Beetlejuice stroked a hand down his wing, sending shivers dancing through his body, called him _baby,_ and Molly had kissed him, running her soft hand down his bare chest. Dewey let out a breath, his head swimming and clouded with want. What exactly he wanted, he couldn’t name, he just knew that it was with _them._

“Yes,” he whispered, kissing Molly again, his hand caressing her cheek, skating back through her hair. “God, yes.” 

His deep brown eyes were half-glazed over as he lifted up on one arm, leaning forward to press a much less confident kiss to Beetlejuice’s lips, which were smooth and a few degrees cooler than Molly’s. His wings stretched to cover them again, feathers ruffling as he felt Molly’s hot little mouth press little kisses to his chest, just over his heart.

“Is this okay?” he said to the demon, wanting more but still so uncertain where the boundary lines were drawn. 

It had been ages since he had done anything sexual, longer still since he had done anything sexual with another male. He was excited, so excited, but still so nervous. He wanted to please them both, wanted to take charge of their pleasure as he’d done when he was alive, but that had been another time. Times had changed, the rules themselves had changed, and Dewey had miles to go before he felt entirely sure of himself.

Molly didn't waste time getting Dewey back to where he'd been, against her, kissing him and stroking his chest. She'd even found a handhold on his trousers--Beetlejuice congratulated himself for winning the bet that the angel hadn't chucked them, as uncomfortable as it must have been--to keep him close.

He smirked and his fingers tucked themselves under Dewey's waistband when he kissed Molly again, as his wing formed a canopy over them again. Beetlejuice wondered if it was a protective gesture, but his thought was cut short when Dewey boldly shifted his attention, stretched over Molly, and kissed him on the mouth.

The angel's lips tasted faintly sweet, like they'd been brushed with thin honey, and even hindered by Molly he automatically pushed into it. The warmth and the taste was a beacon, but before he could truly appreciate it Dewey pulled away, asking if it was okay. He was going to need to sit down to have a serious talk with both of them about what demons were and were not "okay" with--which was pretty much everything and pretty much nothing.

But as much eagerness seemed to radiate off Dewey, there was an undercurrent of anxiety, so Beetlejuice reassured him.

"Yeah. This is okay, baby. This is _more_ than okay."

Dewey sighed when he was given an affirmation, given _permission_ to keep going, and kissed him again, noticing that not only had the demon pressed up into it, but had followed when he had pulled away. He wasn’t sure whose hand was curled in the waistband of his pants, their knuckles brushing his belly, but he pressed closer, nearly moaning into the kiss at the press of Molly’s body against his front, so warm and soft, just as he’d always imagined her. He broke the kiss after a few breathless moments, panting despite not needing oxygen, and looked down at Molly, whose eyes were bright and full of affection.

His mouth opened in a question, but her finger pressed to his lips, answering him before he spoke with a nod. He had permission from them both. He could touch and kiss and taste as he pleased, and the thought had him positively beaming, molding his lips around the tip of her finger before dipping to kiss her neck. 

“I’ve wanted this for ages,” he murmured, reaching down to pull her thigh between his. “I never thought . . . god, I never thought I’d be this lucky.”

His kisses moved lower, his tongue stroking her skin, sweet as a peach. Just before the swell of her breast, he paused, looking up at the both of them. 

“Molly . . . what do you want from us? Ball’s in your court, babe.”

_tbc . . ._


	13. Chapter 13

The sounds of the two of them kissing, murmuring above her, filled her with a deep undercurrent of heat, something she couldn’t explain or quantify, something completely new. The idea of the two of them with her was intoxicating, but the idea of the two of them _together_ sent prickles of pleasure across her skin, the space they occupied in the bed growing steadily warmer. Her heart began to race, skin flush with breathless anticipation.

Dewey’s lips were warm on her skin, her head falling back against Beetlejuice’s shoulder as his tongue dragged across her pulse. Her hand slipped to the demon’s naked thigh, sliding up the pale skin, pressing inward, but never quite where she knew he wanted her most. The last thing she wanted was to start too soon, end too soon. Molly wanted this moment to last.

And then she was handed the reins, looking first into a pair of mahogany eyes, then up into honey. She bit her lip, her mind racing with possibilities. She took a deep breath, and sat up, turning to look at Beetlejuice. 

“Can . . . can you lie down in the middle? I’d like to . . . s-sit on your face, if that's okay.” 

She blushed at her request, still a bit shy to ask for what she wanted despite everything the three of them had been through. 

“Then maybe Dewey could . . . use his mouth on you?” 

She looked to Dewey for approval, who nodded enthusiastically.

He groaned in anticipation of what she laid out. The angel seemed eager too.

"You know I can't say no to an offer like that," he told her, nipping her upper arm affectionately. "You wanna ride my tongue facing Dewey so you can see him, or do you wanna hold onto the head board and show him how nice your ass is?"

"Facing Dewey," she said quickly, her grin widening at the nip he gave her.

She pulled herself up to kneel at the head of the bed, off to the side so that Beej could lie comfortably in the middle. Arousal rolled and twisted warm in her midsection at the prospect of not only feeling that sinful mouth between her legs again, but of watching Dewey pleasure him at the same time. Almost as an afterthought, as if she'd forgotten they were there, she slipped her shorts off, tossing them without a second thought behind her shoulder to the other side of the room.

Moving cautiously, still unsure of any sore spots or injured areas he may have, she threw one leg over him, straddling his head and bracing her palms against his chest, her fingers rubbing lightly over his nipples, tugging gently at the piercings. 

"Dew, why don't you go ahead and get those pants off? I don't think you'll have much use for them."

The angel hurriedly slid off the end of the bed at her suggestion, shucking out of his pants, nearly losing his balance when his left leg got tangled up. He swore under his breath, his knees wobbling when he saw Molly naked for the first time, saw the blankets pulled back to reveal the demon's nakedness. He steadied himself, feeling hot arousal sweep through him and knocking the strength out of him; he knew for sure he had never been this turned on as an angel, had he ever been so excited as a human?

"I haven't done this in a while," he muttered, chewing nervously on the inside of his lip as he climbed back onto the bed, settling down between the demon's pale thighs. "I might be a bit rusty . . . " 

He remembered the basics, hoped the finer techniques would come with practice, and dragged his mouth up the inner face of first one thigh, then the other. A hand that still bore the calluses from years of guitar playing wrapped around the base of his cock, giving him a slow stroke as if in greeting before guiding him into his mouth.

As Molly sat up and got out of his way, Beetlejuice kicked her sheets and blankets away. Settling into the spot she directed him, he watched with hungry eyes as she stripped, then reached for her to guide her over him.

The scent of her pussy made him groan, and even though she held herself up a little while she situated herself, he lifted his head and gave her a preliminary lick. He was interrupted by sparks of achy pleasure that erupted in his chest as she played with his piercings, and he heard her instruct Dewey to lose his trousers.

He snorted a chuckle. The angel wasn't naked yet? How was he thinking this was going to go down? Unless that was a kink of his, being clothed while--

The mattress shifted near his legs and his thought was cut off as he felt Dewey settle between his thighs. He jerked at the feeling of a soft mouth on the delicate skin of one inner thigh, then the other, and then slightly rough fingers wrapped around his erection, giving him a delicious pull. The mattress shifted again as Dewey hiked himself up a little bit, hovering over him.

He groaned. He knew what was coming next and willed his hips to stay in place even through his anticipation, especially as Dewey's soft words of concern filtered through him.

He felt the ghost of warm damp breath along his shaft and he tensed, and just as the angel's mouth closed over the head of his cock, Molly dropped her hips. His open mouthed cry of pleasure morphed into a groan as the taste of her flooded him again, and with bliss at his groin and a sweet pussy in his mouth, Beetlejuice writhed, caught between them.

A tingle went up her spine at that first welcoming lick, humming softly as she carefully lowered herself, head falling forward as the soft brush of his tongue greeted her. She left off teasing his nipples for the time being, simply letting her hands slide along his torso as she watched Dewey crawl up the bed and take Beetlejuice into his mouth. It was odd, to see an angel performing such an act; odd, but _thrilling._

Molly could feel as well as hear the demon’s sound of pleasure, the muffled groans buzzing against her steadily warming flesh. He squirmed beneath her hands, unable to keep completely still, his hips jerking as if they ached to thrust upward into the wet heat around his cock. She smiled, pleased by his positive reaction, and leaned down to press little kisses to the gentle curve of his belly.

She swore under her breath as his tongue twisted deeper, graduating from gentle caresses of his skin to light, teasing scratches, nails scraping up his sides as her hips began to rock against his mouth. 

“Fuck, Beej . . . yes, honey, _just like that . . .”_

Unlike Molly, Dewey did have experience in this arena, and the difference between the two was evident as he showed no signs of hesitation, no doubt or uncertainty as he suckled gently at the swollen head. His memories were muddled, like snapshots foxed and faded with age and neglect, but the taste, the familiar slide of rigid flesh against his tongue, was like a whetstone, sharpening his instincts. His hand continued to pump at the base as his head bobbed, brown curls falling over his eyes. Occasionally, he would glance up to see Molly, perched upon the demon’s face like a goddess on her throne, and he would groan at the sight, his own cock nearly fully hard.

As he worked the cock in his mouth, his wings unfurled, the tips of the snow-white feathers shaking slightly as they brushed up Beej’s thighs, soft and warm and comforting. He liked the sensation of skin sliding against them, was amazed at just how sensitive to touch they were, goosebumps prickling up his arms at the feeling. What an unexpected surprise, to enjoy touching a demon so much, to even have the opportunity to touch and taste and delight. While he could have gone without the fighting and the initial territorial bitterness, ultimately Dewey was glad that circumstances had aligned to bring the three of them together.

His free hand slipped down lower between the demon’s legs, and for a moment he nearly paused to ask if any further exploration was okay. He did slide his mouth off of his cock, but only to swirl his tongue around the head, to massage his frenulum with the ball of his thumb, before relaxing his throat and sliding him deeper, the lower of his hands gingerly cupping and rubbing his balls.

Like completing a circuit, with his mouth full of pussy and his cock being swallowed, Beetlejuice would have folded in the middle if he hadn’t been pinned by the two of them. As it were, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so physically close to one person, let alone two. 

He tried to concentrate on Molly, lapping at her from clit to cunt, dragging his tongue through her folds repeatedly just to hear her gasps each time he did it. Then he focused on her clit, using the tip of his tongue to worry little circles around it, flicking it, sucking the nub between his lips for variety. 

When her hands tightened on his chest, signaling either too much or too close to coming, he chuckled a little, and let her have a break; he wanted to both edge her so when she climaxed it’d be powerful, but he also wanted her to come multiple times. He decided he could do both. 

Lifting his chin put him in a slightly different position. His tongue slipped into her and the sweet taste of her filled his mouth. She bucked and he wrapped his arms around her thighs to keep her tight to him. The new position also pushed the scruff on his chin against her clit, and driving his tongue into her moved his jaw minutely, giving her most sensitive spot a slight massage as well. 

She didn’t seem able not to writhe again but kept herself exactly where he wanted her: directly on his face. Under his hands, her legs started to tremble and he heard the pitch of her voice ratchet higher. This time he didn’t let her go, wanting her to come on his mouth. 

He told her so, a phantom voice against her ear, 

“That’s a good girl, baby girl, I wanna feel your pussy come on my tongue--”

He’d have kept it up as long as it took, if Dewey wasn’t performing the most sinful acts on his cock. 

The angel’s mouth was as hot and warm as a human’s, and when there was a slight pause of readjustment, it was difficult not to slam his hips upward, chasing the heat.

His hands, too, fondling his balls, stimulating more nerve-endings . . . that, and the brief thought that maybe Dewey would work a little further south made him groan deep in his chest. The brush of feathers on his skin was a new sensation that both tickled and inflamed him. When Dewey took him deeper in his mouth, with his tongue laving around his shaft alternating with suction, Beetlejuice had to release on of Molly’s legs and groped for the angel’s head. His fingers tangled into the mess of curls and held tight. 

With the most extreme feat of concentration he’d ever attempted during sex, he whispered to Dewey too, 

“Fuck-- _fuck--_ Dewey, you’re so good, your mouth so good, I’m gonna come, oh shit, gimme a second I’m gonna come--”

Caught in a loop of euphoria building in his gut courtesy of Dewey and the taste of Molly flooding him, Beetlejuice was forced to stop talking and just allow everything to happen.

As much as she didn’t want to hurt him, wanted her touches to remain gentle and measured, when his tongue slipped through her folds, up and down, warm from the heat of her, her hands tightened, her nails digging into his skin a little deeper than she would have liked. Molly couldn’t help it--it just felt so damn _good._ It completely blew her mind how quickly he could get her to whimper when his tongue circled her clit. She was close to orgasm in just a few minutes, but he backed off, letting her calm before wrapping his lips around her clit again, drawing a cry of bliss from her. Molly wasn’t sure if he was purposefully edging her, or if he was just losing concentration from time to time, but she was too brain-fogged to care. 

Any further contemplation on the subject was tossed quickly aside as his neck bent, changing the angle of his mouth against her as he pushed his tongue inside, strong arms wrapped around her spread thighs. The rasp of his stubble against her clit made her squeal, high keening sounds of utter helplessness as he drove her closer and closer to orgasm. The purr of his voice in her ear made her tremble, and she couldn’t do anything but obey, to let herself be tugged over that razor’s edge with a cry of his name. Adrift as she was in her own pleasure, she couldn’t be sure if her orgasm was longer than usual, or if she experienced multiple consecutively. 

When she came back to herself, Beej let her shaking thighs loose, and she carefully swung herself back down onto the bed beside him, hearing him whisper to the angel but unable to see his lips moving. She settled down to let her breathing slow, pulling his head into her lap and bending at the middle to kiss him, her fingers stroking through his hair. 

Molly lifting herself off him gave him the opportunity to throw his head back even as she cradled his head. She even kissed him before he could wipe his face, and he tried to return it between the gasps Dewey was drawing out of him.

Her eyes lifted and met Dewey’s, a smile on her face as she saw pale fingers tangling in his hair, that soft brown gaze mirroring her smile back at her.

The deep sounds of pleasure rumbling above him when Dewey’s hand gingerly massaged his balls granted him the dual satisfaction of knowing that his skill hadn’t completely dulled over the years, and that what he was doing _definitely_ felt good. His eyes were rapt, watching Molly like a hawk as she came, his cock throbbing with each sound she made, helplessly leaking onto the bed as he listened to her cry out. 

Goosebumps pebbled his flesh when he heard that desperate whisper in his ear, so close, as if Beetlejuice had his lips pressed there, and let his hand drift a little further down, rubbing two fingertips gently over the textured ring, adding an extra layer of stimulation to make him go cross-eyed as he tipped over the edge. He expected the spend to taste different, to burn or freeze him, but as the demon came with a cry.

“Come for him, Beej, sweetheart, come on.” 

Being so close already, he didn’t need much more urging than that.

The angel's fingers pressed against his most intimate area, he gave a full body spasm, which heralded his end. With Molly's encouragement and the tight heat of Dewey's mouth around his cock, Beetlejuice came, arching his back enough that it made his wounded shoulder ache. As he drifted back to his senses, he realized he'd tightened his fingers in Dewey's hair, and it took a second to unfold them. 

When at last he was still, she lifted her gaze again, beckoning with a crooked finger at the angel. 

“Come on up, honey. Your turn for some attention.”

Molly invited the angel up then, and tentatively he'd settled next to her. The tips of his wings dragged across Beetlejuice's thighs and stomach, and maybe it was just being sensitive after an orgasm, but maybe it was a lingering celestial bliss that made tingling trails in their wake. 

Sitting up a little, Dewey couldn’t help but look a touch smug as he licked his lips, wings ruffling proudly. So much for all angels being awful, or whatever Beej had said. Then, Molly beckoned to him, her voice sweet and soft, and he felt something clench in his gut. 

Oh God, he wanted it, wanted to feel their hands on him, their kisses, hear their voices in his ear, but he feared he was too close already, the head of his cock flushed and rosy as it bobbed against his stomach. Nevertheless, he did as she asked, crawling up the bed to lie next to her, resting his head on her shoulder and grounding himself in the smell of her hair.

He let out a soft cry as he felt her hand wrap around his cock and give a gentle pull, his hand fisting in the rumpled bedsheets. She was so warm, her skin so _soft,_ he could hardly stand it. If Beetlejuice were to join, he’d surely be done for. 

“T-Take it easy on me,” he gasped, looking at them both with wide eyes. “It’s . . . t’s been a long time for me, and I’m . . . I’m . . .” 

He couldn’t bring himself to say it, coherent speech dissolving into a whimper as she stroked him again.

Molly shifted enough to reach the angel's groin, and the whimpers from Dewey's mouth made Beetlejuice's eyes widen in desire. As the soft protest continued while Molly was so soft with him, he surged upward to capture Dewey's mouth. 

Under the earthy taste of his own come the thin honey sweetness was still present on the angel's lips, and Beetlejuice wondered if that was just a normal thing. If it was, he was going to spend a lot of time exploring this mouth. Since Molly had taken first dibs on Dewey where he wouldn't mind being, Beetlejuice caressed his wings, learning the contours of each. He grinned as Dewey had to jerk away and gasp and the combined stimulation. 

"What do you want us to do to you, baby?" he asked as the angel fought to look at them both and not simply close his eyes at the pleasure. Beetlejuice looked over to Molly himself and smirked, then addressed her. "We're going to have _fun_ with him, aren't we, beautiful?"

Oh heavens, it was too much, it was going to drive him to madness, the gentle strokes of their hands across arguably the two most sensitive parts of his body. His wings shuddered and shivered, curling around the three of them as if inviting Beetlejuice to touch more, to explore each feather. He had no idea they would respond this way to touch; no one had ever touched them before, and it hadn’t even crossed his mind to try. His head fell back against Molly’s shoulder as he surrendered to their touches, limp and helpless, his mind so fogged over that he barely registered that he’d been asked a question. 

“I . . . I’m not s-sure,” he confessed, his cheeks bright red. 

He had never really been on the receiving end in life, never really had the attention of a partner focused on him, let alone two. There were so many things he wanted; to follow in the demon’s footsteps and bury his mouth between Molly’s legs, to push his fingers inside her soft warmth, to kiss Beetlejuice until they were both breathless, to rock his hips against a thigh, to rut and taste and spill. There were so many things he wanted to do, he couldn’t possibly figure out where to start. 

He did lift his hand to cup the side of the demon’s face, the stubble on his cheek rasping against his palm, and draw him down for another kiss. This was perhaps what he had missed most of all about being alive, about being with someone. And not to blaspheme, but _goddamn,_ was that demon good at it.

Molly’s lips curled in a smile in answer to Beetlejuice’s question, and she nodded. The hand not lazily stroking his cock reached up to run through his tousled hair, watching with loving eyes as her demon and her angel kissed. She still couldn’t quite fully wrap her head around the idea. They were _hers,_ and she was _theirs._ She pressed herself closer to the two of them, smiling when she felt Dewey’s hips buck up into her hand; he was hot as a flame and hard as iron, and she could tell he wouldn’t last long. 

“Beej, why don’t you take over stroking him off?” His hands were much bigger than hers, rougher, and combined with a sudden change in temperature might prove more pleasurable than what she could do. 

She shifted to curl around him, his torso leaned back against her as her arms went around him, fingers deftly teasing and rolling the pebbles of his nipples. Her mouth brushed along his neck in a chain of gentle kisses, liking the thrum of his vocal cords against her lips when he moaned or cried out. She wanted him to feel surrounded, to feel safe, to feel wrapped up and secure and able to fully let himself go with them. Molly had a feeling that he hadn’t felt safe enough to be himself in a long, long time. 

“Does it feel good, honey?” She murmured against the curve between neck and shoulder, gently letting her teeth scrape against his skin. “Come whenever you want, Dew, we want to repay the favor.”

Once again, Dewey's mouth on his was a treat and this time he tested some boundaries, boldly pushing his tongue past the angel's soft lips to dip inside. He lapped at his tongue and lightly explored behind his teeth--he wasn't sure if angels needed to breathe so he pulled back a little in the same time frame he'd give a breather. He stayed close though, his eyes closed but a grin on his face, and surged forward again. 

His next attempt at a kiss was interrupted as Molly took his hand and wrapped it around Dewey's cock. His couldn't tear his gaze away from her directing them until she let go and shifted to a new position on the bed, behind Dewey. There was another shudder from the angel, and he didn't know if it was because of the preliminary stroke he gave him or because Molly was pressed naked against his wings. Maybe a combination of the two? Molly's repositioning sandwiched Dewey between them and put him belly to belly with the angel, on his aching shoulder. He could continue to ignore it for the sake of this. 

Beetlejuice licked his lips and glanced back up at Dewey's face. The angel had his eyes screwed shut and was biting his lower lip while whining though his teeth.

After the initial pull, Beetlejuice released his cock for a second, earning a whine in a different tone. He reached down and grabbed the back of Dewey's leg to hoist and position over his own, and pressed his thigh up into the angel's groin. Hands were good, but if Dewey wanted something more solid to rut against-- 

Without having to explain it, that's exactly what the happened: Dewey clamped down on the leg between his and his hips pushed semi-impotently for whatever friction he could find. Beetlejuice chuckled low in his throat. 

"Baby, you're so eager," he whispered, not unkindly. "Let me help."

As Molly continued to kiss the nape of his neck and her hands caressed his chest, Beetlejuice took his cock again and started a slow rhythm, to gauge reactions. Dewey arched as much as he could between them, crying out at even this minor touch. 

Beetlejuice wondered how long it'd been since anyone had done anything like this to him; was celibacy expected of angels? Was it forced on them? No matter now; he and Molly had lots of time to play.

He felt helpless, out of control, his body moving at the whims of his pleasure, desperate whines and whimpers spilling out of his mouth. Molly felt so warm against his back, her bare chest tantalizingly soft against the base of his wings, her hands gently exploring his chest, content to touch every inch of him, and he nearly sobbed at the sensation. How many nights had he imagined those hands on him, doing just as they were doing now? How long had he spent wondering how soft her kisses would be, only to find them trailing up his neck? That would have been enough for him, content to lie back in her arms and indulge, but then there was the demon, all purrs and pleasure and syrupy sweet sin.

It was obvious Dewey wasn't going to last long. He cried out and shook and his hands didn't seem to know what to do, grasping the bed linens in twisting fistfuls, to reaching behind to clutch at Molly, to wrapping one around Beetlejuice's neck to keep him close.

For her ears only, Beetlejuice whispered to Molly, "Baby girl, give me your hand." 

To her credit, she didn't hesitate. Her upper hand slipped from Dewey's nipple down to his belly, and Beetlejuice re-wrapped it around the angel's cock, before folding his hand around hers. He hoped her softer hand and the heavier pressure of his would be enjoyable, and he directed the movements to tug upward on Dewey. The angel bucked and cried out. 

Grinning, Beetlejuice said quietly, "Dewey, baby, open your eyes." 

With effort, the angel obeyed. The demon flicked his amber gaze downward and Dewey followed suit, then his eyes were riveted to his groin as they continued to stroke him together. 

"This is just an appetizer, baby," Beetlejuice said quietly, "just a teaser. We're gonna make you feel so good--whatever you want, Dew, my cock, Molly's pussy, our hands, our mouths, they're yours now. You're going to feel so good--" 

His soliloquy was cut off as Dewey stilled completely. His voice ratcheted to a strangled noise, and with an involuntary juttering of his hips he came over their fists and onto his stomach. 

His thigh pressed insistently between his legs, Dewey’s hips rolling mindlessly, eyelids fluttering as if they couldn’t decide to open or close. He was eager, his body writhing, each nerve coming to life to respond to the pleasure centered at his groin, his legs beginning to shake. He was getting close too soon, far too soon, he wanted to last longer, he never wanted this to end. But then the pressure around his cock lifted for only a moment, then Molly’s hand curled around him, joined by the heavy press of Beetlejuice’s hand over hers. He cried out, clutched at them, looked down to see their hands on him, feeling as if he would drown in the sweet promises dripping from the demon’s lips, and then--!

Dewey couldn’t have stopped it even if he had possessed the strength to do so, his orgasm washing over him like a tidal wave, crushing and suffocating. Through the ringing in his ears, he wasn’t sure if he was yelling or whimpering or making any noise at all, his lower half trembling as he felt a gentle, if too quick, kiss press against his mouth. His eyes stung, overwhelmed by so much sensation after decades of nothing, and as the pleasure faded, tears took its place, gathering first in his eyes then trickling down his cheeks.

The demon chuckled, a little. "Sorry, baby. I meant that to last a little longer." 

He pressed a quick kiss to Dewey's open mouth, although he did not receive a kiss in return; the angel was still too far lost in pleasure.

Gasping, his hand slid from its curled position around the nape of Beej’s neck to slide up through his hair, his head turning to bury his face in Molly’s neck. His flushed skin darkened a shade, and his embarrassment at having come so soon did nothing to stem the flood of sudden, rather alarming tears. 

“I’m s-s-sorry, I . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

Molly practically beamed as she felt him coming, his cock twitching in her hand as his release splashed over their curled fingers and across his front. She could feel how violently he shook, heard the strangled sounds of his pleasure, and felt grateful that she could help grant him this, grateful that she was there to witness something so powerful that it could make an angel tremble. Judging from the feline grin on his face, Beetlejuice was enjoying it as well.

Thusly, she was surprised when she heard a slight sob, felt him turn to press his face into her neck and the slide of warm tears down her skin. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, lifting her clean hand to stroke through his hair. “Please don’t be upset, we _wanted_ you to come.” 

Her eyes flicked up to meet the demon’s glowing amber, as if suggesting he offer support to their angel as well.

“We’ve got all the time in the world now, honey,” she soothed, settling back against the headboard and holding him, hooking her ankle around Beej’s leg to keep him close. 

Sighing, she lifted her hand to her mouth and licked her fingers clean, tasting a slight sweetness, that same thin honey that the demon tasted in his kisses. When her hand was clean, she wrapped both arms around the angel, holding him tight. With her inexperience, she couldn’t be sure if a reaction like this was commonplace or not, but instinct told her that he’d come around, ready to go again soon, and that for now he just needed to purge whatever had overwhelmed him. She had waited years for something like this. She could wait a few moments more.

Tears weren't unusual; he was quite proud of being able to reduce someone to them. If they were produced due to pleasure that was just validation and made him puff up with pride. An _apology,_ though . . . that was something else all together.

Molly's quiet reassurances and her leg locking over his to keep him tangled between Dewey's thighs, plus the expression that he easily read as, _"do not be a dick about this,"_ on her face made him press a kiss to the angel's shoulder. He wasn't wracked with sobs, which Beetlejuice was glad for. He might not be great with comfort, but he could say things quietly.

"She's right, baby," he agreed. "That was always going to be the end result. Nothin' to be sorry about. Well, I do, I guess--I should've warned you my hands were _wicked."_

He caught Molly rolling her eyes but with a slight smile on her face in response to his light tease and bad joke. Dewey managed a weepy chuckle and Beetlejuice nipped then kissed his shoulder again. Although more words were behind his teeth, he kept them there. Dewey needed support and reassurance, not more quips or digs.

The three of them lay pressed against each other for a moment. Molly lifted her hand and licked her fingers clean; that was one of the sexiest things he thought he'd ever had the pleasure of seeing. She probably had to get started with her day, but with the two of them holding the angel who seemed to simply want to be embraced, he was loathe to be the first to break away. Settling his cheek comfortably against Dewey's warm skin, he relaxed, wondering what it was going to be like, having and sharing an existence with the two of them.

It would be good, he hoped.

_fin!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You, dear reader, may have noted the little _fin!_ at the end of this chapter, which directly contradicts the chapter count indicated in the descriptor. The chapter count is correct! This rp story is finished, but I adore the characters so much I wrote two other solo stories about them. They take place further along in their relationship and focus on Beetlejuice and Angel Dewey; Molly is there but as I am less comfortable writing someone's OC she isn't featured as heavily. I hope you enjoy the final two 'epilogue' stories as well! 💖


	14. Demon and Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice and Angel Dewey and Molly have settled into a domestic, if odd, relationship. True nature can be hard to overcome though, sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in an indeterminate time post "Ménage"

Puttering around her kitchen, Molly was never quite sure what to expect when she left her two housemates alone. There were arguments, there were stony silences, there were bouts of uncontrolled laughter, there were shouts and accusations of cheating from both when Beej conjured a Nintendo Switch and they played MarioKart against each other. Sometimes she would leave and come back to find them in different parts of her house, clouds of cigarette smoke enveloping both of them, each stewing over some perceived slight. 

It could take a little encouragement to get them to come back together again sometimes. 

If they weren’t obviously so fond of each other--even if they didn’t want to admit it--she’d have pulled her hair out and thrown in the towel, and kicked them both to the curb.

She was used to the petty disagreements. Laughter could be slightly alarming, although she preferred to hear it. Dead silence, however, was cause for investigation. 

Dewey’d been not quite himself lately: down, questioning his lot in life, fretting over what he considered “free-loading” off her. Beetlejuice had no issues about living in her house and eating her food, although he did have some ability to conjure things from the ether to make up for it. As only psychics and people brushed by death could see him, he also had no qualms about going out in public when he needed or wanted to, despite not looking fully human. 

Dewey was not as brave or foolhardy; he felt that his wings made him more conspicuous. There was no hiding them, he said, so even if he wanted to go out he couldn’t, and that made him feel less than a contributing member of the household. 

Beetlejuice had been either needling him about it or telling him to rub dirt in it and walk it off. The demon was a world-class pest and could ferret out exactly the worst thing to say to someone. Earlier Molly had had a few angry words to bend his ear about that, and firmly told him to stop making Dewey feel worse. He’d stomped off in a huff, as if _he_ were the one suffering. 

So when there had been no noise from either of them for a bit, it was concerning. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Molly walked through her house fully expecting to find them in different spots. Beej liked the attic or her bed. Dewey liked the window seat in the bay window, so he could see the garden. All of those places were empty. 

Instead she found them on her sofa. Beetlejuice was in his typical spot leaning on one of the arms. Dewey was being held spooned against him, cradled between his legs and on the demon’s chest. His head was on the demon’s shoulder, comfortably pressed into the side of his neck. One wing was tucked tightly against the back cushions; the other wrapped lightly over the two of them. Molly watched Beej’s free hand pet through the feathers of the wing and didn’t miss the angel’s shivers; his wings were always sensitive. 

The demon was saying something. It was a whisper and she couldn’t quite make it out, but could see Dewey tense. Beej stroked his wing again, and lifted his hand to run it through the angel’s soft messy curls.

Molly was just about to step in, because despite their position whatever Beetlejuice had said made Dewey anxious, but stopped as Dewey nodded and the demon kissed the top of his head. 

“Every angel is terrible,” he said in a voice, now just loud enough for her to hear. 

That was it. She was going to put a stop to whatever Beetlejuice was doing. Dewey had been having a rough go, and hearing that wasn’t going to help make him feel better--

“Yet, alas, I sing to you, most deadly birds of the soul, knowing of you,” Beetlejuice continued, stroking Dewey’s hair. “Where are the days of Tobias, when one of you, the brightest of creatures, stood at the front door, disguised for the journey and no longer frightening--a young man like the one who peeked through the window--”

Molly held her breath. 

“But if the dangerous archangel now took even one step towards us from behind the stars, our own heartbeats, rising like thunder, would kill us. Who are you?”

She had no idea what Dewey’s reaction to this recitation was, but the rough edges of Beej’s voice had been sanded down, and the gentle cadence of the poem made tears spring to her eyes. Unaware he had an audience of more than the angel he held, the demon continued. 

“Creations pampered favorites, among the first to be perfect, pockets of essence, points of pure light, storms of emotion whirled into rapture, then suddenly separate . . . mirrors gathering beauty that streamed away from their faces and gather it back to them again.”

He paused there, and it wasn’t for a breath but to lift Dewey’s chin so he could kiss him. It was almost the perfect time to either make herself known or to back away, but Molly was rooted to the floor, watching the gentle interplay between them. When the kiss ended, Beej brushed the hair off Dewey’s forehead and finished, holding his gaze instead of letting him settle back against his neck.

“Lovers, gratified in each other--I am asking you about us. You hold each other. Where is your proof? Sometimes I find that my hands have become aware of each other--”

He was cut off by Dewey nudging up and in to kiss him again. Maybe the demon had skipped some of the work or cherry-picked parts of that poem to recite, Molly thought, but that wasn’t important. He’d given Dewey something more than the opening line, which by itself sounded negative. 

The kiss lingered, soft and slow, until Dewey sighed and settled more comfortably against Beetlejuice. The demon’s black nailed fingers ran over the feathers of the wing blanketing them, and he lifted his eyes to Molly’s.

It struck her suddenly that he’d known she was there all along. He’d been sweet, soothing, and reassuring at her direction, and he wasn’t embarrassed that she’d caught him doing so. As a matter of fact, he held his hand out to her, palm up, inviting her closer. 

Quietly, Molly stepped further into the room to their side. 

With the two of them stretched out on the couch, there wasn’t room for her to be close, so she knelt at their sides on the floor. Dewey didn’t move his head from against Beetlejuice’s shoulder, but he did lift his wing so it sheltered her too. 

Molly rested her cheek on Beetlejuice’s arm and reached up to brush Dewey’s hair off his forehead, just as the demon had.

“You feeling better, honey?” 

The angel nodded and even smiled as Beetlejuice kissed his forehead. 

“You know we want you here. You’re important to us.”

“I know,” he replied quietly. 

“Do either of you need anything? Are you comfortable?”

“I’m good,” the angel said.

The demon just raised his eyebrows and gave her a wink. 

Molly smiled and got up. She leaned over to kiss Dewey’s forehead too, then turned to kiss Beetlejuice just as lightly but on the mouth. She left them cuddled on the sofa and went back to making dinner, smiling about her odd but supportive little family. 

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem semi-recited is by Rainer Maria Rilke, a German poet from the early 20th century. It is the Second Elegy of the [_Duino Elegies_](http://homestar.org/bryannan/duino.html) . Many translations of Rilke's works exist; the link contains one of them.


	15. A Feather Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dewey's wings are incredibly sensitive. The feathers hold properties of their own.

“Oh god, Dewey baby that feels so good, _that feels so good--”_

His hips jerked erratically and his hand had to have tightened too painfully in his lover’s hair, but he couldn’t help himself; the angel had a wicked mouth and when his wingtips came up and brushed along his body from nipples to thighs, Beetlejuice howled and came in his throat.

He drifted in a sea of pleasure and couldn’t control some residual spasms, until Dewey pulled off him. Lazily he looked down his torso to see the angel wipe away a string of semen-opaque spit with the back of his hand from his lower lip. The angel’s eyes were blown dark with arousal. His lips were shiny and slightly swollen, and there was a flush high on his cheeks. 

Instantly the lazy, post-orgasm haze was replaced with a predatory resurgence of lust.

Quick as a thought, he hauled Dewey atop him, holding him close, asking in a dirty whisper, “What do you want, baby? How do you want it? I’ll suck you off, you can fuck me--Dewey I wanna make you see stars, baby--”

The angel’s wings fluttered and stroked down his naked body again, and Beetlejuice moaned, clutching his lover even more tightly. When Dewey held his eyes and whispered huskily exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it, the demon managed to smile though his jaw was loose from the decidedly _non-_ holy words that graced his ears. 

Afterward, sated and pleasantly achy, Beetlejuice idly dragged his fingers through Dewey’s wings. The angel liked to cuddle and was snug against his side; his heat was welcome but even more so were the silky feathers under his hands. Dewey twitched like it was bothersome.

If he wasn’t so blissed out, he might have continued to do it because he liked it. As it were, he apologized and stilled his hand. “Sorry, baby.”

Dewey shook his head slightly. “No, no--Beej . . . it doesn’t hurt. It tickles a little, but . . . I like it.”

It had been hard for Dewey to open up about what he liked and preferred instead of simply allowing whatever happened to him to happen. Molly called it growth and encouraged it; Beetlejuice called it “finally giving in to the Dark Side” and “admitting he was a pervert, like the rest of us”. Out of earshot of course. He was routinely admonished by Molly about it. 

With her words ringing in his ears that they needed to be supportive, but mostly because he wanted to continue, Beej said,

“You like it, huh? Like this?”

He dragged his palm flat against the white wings.

“Or this?”

Here he was more delicate, slipping his fingers gently between the individual feathers to stroke.

Dewey shuddered at each. “I like them both,” he admitted shyly.

Beetlejuice ran his hand down them some more, and each time the angel wiggled. He narrowed his eyes and noted that the area he petted had smoothed down a bit. He shrugged his shoulder, bouncing Dewey’s head, to get his attention. 

“Hey. Do angels preen their wings? You know, like birds?”

Sure this was a set up for some kind of prickish comment, Dewey frowned and shook his head half-grumpily. “What are you talking about? We’re not birds. Do you have to routinely wet down those tentacles of yours, like some kind of sea creature?”

Immediately he regretted snapping. They’d been having a nice time, laying here; he’d liked the demon’s hands on him, and now he’d gone and ruined the mood. Guilt flooded him. Before he could apologize or throw himself off the bed and go hide so he didn’t have to face Molly’s disappointment in him being so rudely horrible, Beetlejuice gave a snort of a laugh. 

“You’re gettin’ better at that, Dew,” he praised lightly, then mused a bit. “Prob’ly more accurate to call them _arms_ than tentacles, though . . .”

He gave himself a bit of a shake and refocused on the angel beside him. He pressed a kiss into the shock of dark hair, ran his hands over his feathers again, and continued softly, 

“I know you’re not birds. But you have feathered wings, and I wondered if you did any kind of grooming or something with them.”

That made Dewey feel even guiltier, Beetlejuice being patient with him. He apologized in a whisper, still fully expecting to be huffed at or for the soft atmosphere that had surrounded them to be fractured. The continued gentle strokes along his wings told him otherwise, though, and made him settle in closer again to the cool body that never seemed to warm beside him. He sighed and closed his eyes.

“Not really? I mean, I never have,” he admitted. “Why do you ask?”

Beetlejuice shrugged. “They just look smoother after I was running my hand down them. And I don’t know if this is normal, but one looks loose.”

Dewey’s eyes popped open and he twisted to look down his back as best he could. “What?!”

“This one. It’s loose. Hanging by a thread, so to speak.”

As Dewey continued to try and see what the demon was talking about, with only the slightest of tugs the feather came off in his fingers. It wasn’t a big one, just one that was medium-sized and moderately soft. Beetlejuice brought his hand forward and showed Dewey, whose eyes widened even more. 

“Am I bleeding? Is there a gap where it was?!” he asked, horrified.

Now he had to calm a panicking angel back down. 

“No. No! Dewey, baby, it’s all okay. Let me look again--” He made a show of gently lifting the wing and examining it underneath, then he got up on his knees so he could look at the back. “--there’s no blood. There’s no gap in the other feathers. I can’t even tell where it came from, baby.

“Okay? It all looks fine. Does it hurt?”

Dewey stretched his wing tentatively, as though he expected it to catch or ache, but when it didn’t, when he’d extended it fully and twisted it lightly, he had to admit that it did not. Sitting back on his heels, Beetlejuice watched this display. It was hard to keep his hands to himself, and when the wing was at its full extension over his head, he lifted his arm so his fingertips brushed against the canopy it’d made. Dewey shuddered again and kept the appendage outstretched like an umbrella. 

With sunlight filtering through the feathers, the entire mussed bed was washed in muted white. Beetlejuice couldn’t help but smile and once again stroked along the feathers above. 

“Beej . . .” Dewey breathed out. 

The demon cocked an eyebrow at his bedmate. “I’m not looking for round two, baby. I just like the way they feel, and they’re laying more nicely after I pet them.”

Dewey glanced at the spot that had gotten the most attention. It was true; instead of looking disheveled, the feathers there were straight and smooth.

“Do you mind . . . eh, nevermind. Forget it.”

The angel’s brow wrinkled. “Do I mind what?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Beej. Tell me. It’s okay.”

For a moment the demon looked torn as to whether or not to clam up or continue, then he sighed. “Do you mind if I . . . continue to pet them? They feel nice, and if it smooths them out . . .?”

Dewey considered this. As long as he’d been adored with wings, he’d never given any real thought to them. He could move them and he could feel touch to them, which he’d discovered after sharing a bed with Beetlejuice and Molly was absolutely delicious, but he’d never thought about petting them for the sake of petting. Grooming, really. If that feather had been loose, maybe it needed to shed and he’d never known? He had to admit the area that Beej had stroked did look more tidy.

Finally he shrugged. “Okay. Sure.”

Beetlejuice perked up that his suggestion wasn’t immediately shot down. After some further discussion, they decided Dewey should lay on his stomach, like receiving a back massage, and that would give full access to at least the back of his wings. As he settled onto the mattress, he had to consciously remind himself to relax.

After the demon started, however, at first gently applying long sweeping strokes over the tops of the feathers as a group, Dewey didn’t have to tell himself to relax. It felt sublime to have them stroked, and when Beetlejuice began even more gently separating the feathers individually and straightening them, he moaned lightly. That earned him a soft pinch on his bare ass, which made him jump and chuckle self-consciously, but the return of fingers threading through his wings made him sink back onto the mattress and had him drift in the sensation of it all. 

To his end, Beetlejuice worked on Dewey’s wings for over an hour. It was warm in the block of sunlight on Molly’s bed and quiet, with only his lover’s occasional moans to fill the air. He learned the feel of the different types of feathers that made up the impressive wings, from downy to stiff depending on their placement. Although he never pulled, a few others were loose enough to come off in his hands. He made a little pile of them and hoped Dewey wouldn’t be upset they were gone. 

His hands were tingling by the time he had done most of both of them. There was no longer sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, and Molly would be home soon. Maybe she’d appreciate having both of them relaxed in bed waiting for her, but maybe she’d be upset they’d spent the afternoon lazing away!

Beetlejuice leaned over and pressed a kiss to the nape of Dewey’s neck. 

“I’m done for now, baby. Feel okay?”

Dewey stretched both his shoulders and then his wings gently. They felt lighter, somehow. More airy. He twisted to look at the wing, and although it hadn’t been dusty, per se, it did seem to be _brighter._ Sitting up and giving them a final shake ruffled the feathers, and they all fell back into place easily. 

“I feel _amazing._ Thank you, sweetie.” 

Beetlejuice looked smugly proud as Dewey kissed his mouth, but the angel couldn’t help but smile too. He announced he was going to shake them out one more time in the garden. 

Beetlejuice watched him go, and gathered the shed feathers into his fist. He secreted them up to the warm spot in the attic he liked to lay, where Molly and Dewey rarely went. 

⁂

He didn’t _do_ anything with them. He just liked to hold them when he fell asleep on the dusty pillows that Molly had stored away. It was quiet up here, and the musty smell was comforting to him. That, plus the fact that it was oppressively warm made it one of his favorite places in the house when he wanted to be alone, or if he thought it might be a good idea to lay low after he and Dewey squabbled. 

Beetlejuice discovered that the feathers retained warmth too, and never got dirty, despite the dustiness of the attic. They smelled like the angel too: a faint whiff of honeysuckle and ozone. It was comforting to run his fingers along the soft edges of them, or feel their minor warmth through his shirt. 

In fact, he had most of them pressed to his neck and one to his cheek while he lay on his side, feeling logy in the warmth that surrounded him, when Molly entered the attic and found him.

He’d half heard her approach through the haze he drifted in. Her gasp startled him more awake. 

“Beej! What have you done?!” she demanded sharply. 

He jumped and looked around, confused and guilty. “Wh-what?”

“What have you done?!” she repeated.

It wasn’t like Molly to be snappish or angry, unless she had to reprimand him about something. He wracked his semi-sleepy brain as to what he might have done recently to deserve her ire, but nothing came to mind. He pushed himself up to a seated position, although he was still cowed. Laying down felt too vulnerable. 

“Molly, baby, I don’t understand--” he pleaded.

“Where did you get those feathers?! Have you been pulling them out of Dewey’s _wings? Have you been picking on Dewey?!”_ she interrupted. 

Even as he looked down at the white feathers clutched in his hands he remained confused. “What? No, no I haven’t! Molly--”

She ignored him and shouted for Dewey. 

He should be angry. He was a _demon_ and he didn’t deserve to be treated this way; he hadn’t done anything wrong! This time! He should put her in her place and rain down holy terror for daring to raise her voice to him--but he was still muddled from being woken so abruptly and he didn’t _want_ to throw his weight around with Molly; he liked her too much and he liked being her with her and Dewey and if he got too defensive it could ruin everything he had and then where would he be--

Dewey’s head popped up at the entrance to the attic. Being shouted for, to "get up here right now!", bewildered him. His expression became deeper befuddlement as he saw Molly with her hands on her hips glowering at the demon sitting in front of her on the faded cushions under the dusty window. Beetlejuice was in a tucked, defensive position with curled shoulders and a ducked head. 

“Molly? Beej? What’s going on?” he asked as he came completely into the attic. He kept his wings tight to his back in the cramped space. 

“Beetlejuice has feathers! From your wings!” Molly explained loudly. 

Dewey didn’t miss the flinch the demon gave at the use of his full name, and he hurried to his side, brushing past the woman to sink down and hold him. 

Molly scowled at what she thought was manipulated protection spurred by Beetlejuice. “Don’t do that! Don't coddle him! Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? Are your wings okay? You’ve crossed a line this time Beetlejuice--this is _unacceptable--”_

Dewey could feel the second wince at the fully spoken name and now a steady tremble in the demon. He didn’t know if it was due to holding himself back from retaliating or if it was fear; the wide eyes and slightly opened mouth let him to believe it was the latter. He did see that Beetlejuice had several of his wing feathers now crushed in his fists and held to his chest. It dawned on him they must have come from when he was groomed. He hadn’t known they were missing, but it didn’t bother him. Very gently he opened a wing and folded the demon into it to reinforce the hug. 

“Molly. Molly!” he said, increasing his voice with the repetition so she would stop and _listen._ She paused for a breath, her own fists tight at her sides. “Beej didn’t do anything! They were old feathers--they fell out! I didn’t know he took them, but it’s _okay!”_

Beetlejuice was used to being yelled at. Usually he was the one fighting! But this was different, this was out of the blue. He’d been startled and confused, and Molly was so angry she’d said his name _twice,_ but Dewey was explaining, Dewey was holding him. He was sheltered under the angel’s wing and Dewey was standing up for him. He resisted the urge to duck his head further against Dewey; that’d only make his reputation crumble even more!

“Tell me the truth, Dewey!” Molly demanded. 

“Molly goddamnit, _listen to me,”_ Dewey retorted.

When her angel swore, when he blasphemed, it pulled her up short. 

“Beej _didn’t do anything wrong,”_ Dewey repeated, emphasizing each word. “He helped me groom my wings--you noticed that, you told me they looked nice!--and some feathers fell out on their own! It didn’t hurt. I didn’t even notice it. It’s not a problem to me that he’s got them up here. I understand why you were confused seeing them here, but you jumped to a very wrong conclusion!” 

Molly opened her mouth, then shut it again. Dewey looked fierce, as a true guardian angel should, even if it was slightly odd that the one he was protecting at the moment was a demon. Said demon looked odd too, all small and cowed. As if he was afraid of her gaze on him and more accusations, he opened his fists and the feathers he’d been clutching drifted into his lap. 

She wilted, seeing that. What had she done? Dewey said she’d jumped to a very wrong conclusion, but it was worse than that: she’d simply _expected_ that Beetlejuice had done something mean and wrong, and her accusations showed that her trust in him was still low. Maybe he thought her trust was provisional! And she’d even said his full name twice! It wasn’t in a row, but she’d demonstrated she wouldn’t hesitate to use the ultimate power in her favor if she needed to. 

Tears sprang to her eyes and she sank to the floor with them. Beetlejuice watched her with wary eyes. 

“Oh fuck, Beej, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” Her apology was babbled. “Dewey’s right, I didn’t think, I just assumed and that was horrible. Horrible! I shouldn’t have done that, I’m so sorry, honey--”

Dewey reached for her, which was nice, but what was nicer was when Beetlejuice held out a trembling hand as well, although he did it slowly, like maybe she’d bite. Molly took both gratefully and scooted closer. The angel’s other wing came up to surround her too, as was typical. 

“I was so wrong. I’m sorry, baby,” she continued to repeat, and stroked Beetlejuice’s cheek. 

He nodded, a little. The loose feathers scattered in his lap were still warm, but he hesitated to pick them up again. Dewey must have sensed his reluctance, and did it for him. He straightened them and made them as neat as he could. It was obvious they meant a lot to the demon, to keep them up here when he was alone. 

“There you go, baby,” he said softly, handing them back to Beetlejuice like a bouquet of flowers. “If any more come out, you can have them too, okay?”

The demon took the feathers with an involuntary glance at Molly. Her heart broke, and she dared to reach out and close her hand around his. It did make her feel better that he didn’t jerk away from her. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated again. Then she was at a loss. She wanted to hug him, wanted to hug them both, but thought after what she’d done giving Beetlejuice some time was a better idea. Carefully she got to her feet. “I’ll give you some time, okay? I’m sorry I interrupted your nap. I’ll be . . . be out in the garden. Just so you know.”

She gave them a smile. Dewey returned it, and Beetlejuice tried, at least. She left the two of them in the warm attic, a demon with a handful of celestial feathers held tight in his fist, comforted by an angel, with dust motes swirling lazily around them. 

⁂

Molly stayed outside through dinner, until dusk turned colors cool and fireflies started taking flight into the sky. She’d sequestered herself near her small gazebo, which hurt a little because of the memories of the three of them out here together, versus being by herself. Her eyes had dried but still felt hot. 

“Molly? Baby?” 

Dewey’s voice carried across the yard. She looked up to see him silhouetted against her backdoor, the light from the kitchen making a corona around him that was remarkably how he looked before he’d forsaken the other angels. 

“It’s getting cold,” he continued. “Please come in.”

She had half a mind not to, but she had no one to blame but herself for her actions that afternoon, and it was getting chilly. Time to face the music. Time to find out if Beetlejuice was going to leave, and maybe Dewey was going to leave too of his own volition, since she showed she was unpredictable and potentially willing to banish without just cause. 

Standing up and feeling stiff from sitting so long on a wooden bench, Molly sighed, hugged herself around her waist, and trudged in. 

Dewey was still waiting for her when she got to the door. Nodding to the sink, he told her, “I started the water running so it’d be warm for your hands.”

Thoughtful. It gave her a pang to recall it was _Beetlejuice_ who’d taught him that little nicety, since her water heater took some time to kick into gear. The angel stood by while she washed her hands of dirt. 

“I’ll make you something to eat,” he said. “Beej is waiting to talk to you.”

New tears pricked her eyes, but she held her breath and held it together. It was only fair she talk to him and give him the courtesy of hearing him want to leave. Nodding, she turned and walked out of the kitchen. 

She found Beetlejuice not in the living room as expected, but in her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed with his hands clasped in his lap, looking as nervous as she felt. She realized she hated seeing him reduced to something less than his loud, boisterous self, and it was even worse that she’d put him in that state. 

He stood up awkwardly when he saw her in the doorway. 

“Molly! I, uh . . .” He fumbled to a stop, like he expected her to be upset he’d even said her name. 

Molly stepped into the room. Taking a breath to steel herself, she said exactly what she’d said earlier, and what she’d screamed internally the entire time she’d spent outside alone.

“Beej, honey, I am so very sorry. I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have yelled, and I don’t have any excuse for what I said to you! I feel awful, and I deserve to feel awful! I am _so sorry.”_

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and she chanced to look up at him. Apparently he’d waited until she was looking before holding out his hand. Biting her lip, Molly moved to him and carefully took it. Beetlejuice sat back down then, and pulled her down beside him. It was less than what he would typically do--he liked to pull her into his lap at inappropriate times, just to hear her laugh--but at least it was something. 

She worried at her lower lip, an old habit that had become less now that she had two housemates, while she watched him struggle with what he wanted to say. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she understood he’d want to go, that she understood he couldn’t trust her, but before she opened her mouth, he blurted, 

“It’s okay. I forgive you.”

Instead of words, a sob left her. It’s what she wanted, right? For him to understand? But did she deserve it?

“B-b-beej, I _accused_ you and said your name _twice--”_

He shook his head and spoke over her. “I understand why you thought I’d done something nasty. I would’ve. Before. But I wouldn’t now! Why would I ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me? And you said my name twice, but not in a row, so it didn’t count, really.”

She wanted to agree, she wanted him to understand that she understood that now too. She wanted to apologize again about his name, but he continued on. 

“It was a mistake. Everybody makes mistakes, Dewey said. And when you l-l . . . _like_ someone, you can forgive them. Dewey said that. He’s the expert on forgiveness,” he joked weakly. “So I wanted to . . . well . . .”

From his back pocket he pulled out a feather. One of Dewey’s of course. The shaft near at the quill end was slightly crushed, but the vanes had been smoothed together and its shape was intact. 

“This is the biggest one that fell out,” he explained, twirling it slowly in his fingertips. “The best one. See how it kind of glows? They all do that. And it’s warm too. Here.”

It did seem to reflect more white light than expected, she saw. Molly expected him to draw the edge of it along her arm, which he did, before putting it in her hand and closing her fingers around it. The warmth he mentioned was real. It was the faintest sensation of heat in her palm, and it felt nice to hold it.

“You can have it.”

She looked up at him, startled. It occurred to her that her expression was probably the exact same that he’d had when she’d barked at him earlier. “What? Beej, no--Dewey said it was yours--”

“And I’m giving it to you. It’s comforting to hold, and I want you to have it. That’s okay, isn’t it, Dewey?”

For the first time Molly realized that the angel was standing in the doorway with a plate of food. She had no idea how long he’d been there.

“Yes, it’s okay,” he agreed easily, stepping closer to the two of them. “I don’t mind either of you having them.”

Forgiveness and a gift? Molly didn’t know what to say and her throat was too tight to allow words out anyway. She leaned into Beetlejuice, who slipped an arm low on her waist. Dewey was next to her then as well, with dinner. He planted a kiss first on the top of Beetlejuice’s head, then hers.

Forgiveness, a gift, food, and most importantly, the three of them together. Although maybe her heart had broken earlier, it was repaired and new tears fell, but of happiness. 

_fin!_


	16. Great Vengeance and Furious Anger

There was a sound.

A muffled sound. 

A sound of stealth. 

A footstep. 

A deliberately soft footstep that was out of place in the deep of night, when the windows were open and crickets sang to each other, when it should be slow and sleepy and quiet.

A deliberately soft footstep in a room where no one should be, because the three who lived here were tangled on a bed. 

Beetlejuice cocked his head and listened harder. 

Beyond the Molly’s soft breathing and Dewey’s equally soft mimic of breathing, there were more footsteps. In the living room.

Moving smoothly to avoid disturbing his lovers, he slipped off the edge of the mattress. Dewey muttered something incoherent and the wing that he liked to blanket the two of them under fluttered. Molly sighed and even though asleep, sensed Beetlejuice wasn’t beside her. Instead of waking, she flipped and snuggled closer to the angel. 

Good. 

They could stay together, asleep. He’d go find out and take care of whatever--whoever--was in the other room.

He’d eliminate it.

Light-footed as a cat, he crept from the bedroom.

Just as he’d suspected, just as he’d feared and hoped, there was a guy quietly going through Molly’s things. Specifically the drawers she kept some of her supplies for rituals and spellwork. Beetlejuice almost laughed; if the guy was expecting to find silverware or jewelry, he was going to be sadly disappointed!

But the intruder didn’t seem to be upset or disgusted by what he found. Holding a penlight wrapped in red cellophane in his mouth, he used both hands to pick up and discard various items. Random things, uncommon things like a porcupine foot and a bit of a corpse flower preserved in purified rain water, he slipped into the satchel at his side. The guy was systematic and thorough, and that was unnerving. 

He knew what to expect from this house. He knew what he was looking for. This wasn’t a simple burglary. 

The man finished with one drawer and went to the next. It was one Molly had sealed with green and white wax along the edges of the drawer. With no hesitation, the intruder broke the wax and pulled the drawer open. The faintest suggestion of a glow was visible as it came free.

Eyes wide and his lips pulled back to show his teeth, Beetlejuice sunk to the floor into a crouch.

That drawer was _special._ That drawer was _important._ Molly kept the most private, most intimate, things there. Protected by wards and prayers, lined with deep purple velvet, it contained three crystal vials: one with a fingernail he’d broken off, one containing a small downy feather from Dewey’s wings, and the smallest that held several of her hairs. Bound together with red string, the collected parts of them were symbolic of their commitment to one another. 

And this _thief_ was pawing into that sacred space. 

Beetlejuice could be invisible. He could simply walk up to the guy and twist his head off his neck, damn the mess it would make. But where was the fun in that? This intruder needed to be made to fear, made to _understand_ he had broken into the wrong house, even if he was looking for magical artifacts. 

He crept forward on all fours, tentacles erupting from him and sliding along the floor like inkstains even darker than the shadows that cloaked the room. He licked his teeth and cut his tongue on their points, and grinned as he readied himself to launch at this fool, and make him pay. 

All muscles tensed, sharpened fingernails digging into Molly’s carpet and tentacles writhing, eager to envelope the man, he took one second to relish the anticipation of the attack.

In that one second, the man’s hand closed around the three vials. He smiled too, and snapped the fingers of his other hand, and Beetlejuice was frozen, pinned like an insect to a board.

“Demons are so predictable,” the man muttered in a bored tone.

He couldn’t even move his eyes. Whatever this man had done, Beetlejuice was trapped. He watched, helplessly, bloody drool collecting on and then dripping from his lower lip because he couldn’t swallow, as the intruder examined his prize, shaking the three vials to get a better look at what they contained. He sighed and glanced down at his captive. 

“A fingernail? That’s a bit _mundane,_ don’t you think? You could have at least provided spit or semen.”

Even his tentacles, his shadow mass, were immobilized. He had no recourse, no protection as the man picked his way closer to him. He squatted when he was within a foot. Beetlejuice had no idea how he appeared to the man, in the muted red of the light he held. Terrifying? Pathetic? If he could simply break free, he’d tear him limb from limb, he’d make him pay for what he was doing, he’d kill him and feed his ghost to a Sandworm, then bumrush him straight to the Lost Souls’ Room for an eternity of desolate hopelessness--

“I think one of these would be a much better sample.” 

In impotent anger that melted towards horror, Beetlejuice watched the man lift a tentacle. It was pliant and loose, like it belonged to someone else, but he could feel the pinch of the man’s grip. So he was pinned, but not nerveless. The silver edged knife that suddenly appeared in the intruder’s hand to lop off his tentacle was going to hurt like a son of a bitch, and he couldn’t do anything but watch it happen--

 _“TRESPASSER!”_ declared a voice with the toll of the deepest bell, a voice so deep the vibration of it was painful in not only his ears but his chest. 

It hurt the man too, because he dropped everything he was holding--his knife and his penlight and the vials he’d pilfered--and automatically put his hands over his ears. 

A brilliant white light erupted behind him, burning out all details of the room. Beetlejuice was happy he was facing away, because otherwise unable to blink he would have been blinded. His shadow mass disappeared under the intensity of the light, and he dropped flat to the carpet like he was a puppet that had its strings cut. He could move again, but didn’t.

_“YOU DARE ENTER UNINVITED, YOU DARE TO TOUCH THAT WHICH IS NOT YOURS?”_

At the burst of eye-burning brilliance, the intruder threw himself backward. Unable to cover both his ears and eyes, tears streamed down his face and he cried out. The noise he made was lost in the echo of Dewey’s words. 

The light fluxed, and with his own eyes leaking tears, Beetlejuice squinted as Dewey stepped lightly over him, descending on the man. Wings outstretched, looking like every vengeful, smiting, wrath of God depiction of an angel ever created, he was cloaked in white-hot light. A true guardian angel, unchained. It hurt too much to look at him directly for more than a moment. 

_“THIS TRANSGRESSION DOES NOT WARRENT FORGIVENESS.”_

Beetlejuice rapidly blinked his stinging eyes. Now that Dewey was between him and the intruder he could only hear the man trying to scramble backwards on the floor. He was sobbing and begging, his words tumbling over themselves in his effort to stop the angel from descending closer. The sharp smell of piss as the man’s bladder emptied made Beetlejuice grin.

_“SILENCE.”_

To his credit, the man immediately obeyed that word. Dewey’s voice, still tolling like a bell, seemed to echo in the confines of the living room. 

It was still too bright to see exactly what happened next, but it appeared that as Dewey stood over the intruder, his wings came around and enveloped him. The man gave one final blubbering sob, and then as quickly as turning off a switch, the blinding holy light that had erupted from Dewey was gone. 

Beetlejuice lay where he was, stomach down on the floor, for a moment longer. He would have expected his vision to be burnt out longer, or for his ears to ring, but neither of those happened. The house was as quiet and still as it had been before he’d been aware someone had broken in. 

The only evidence there’d even been someone else was the satchel, the dropped penlight and knife, the wet spot of urine soaked into the carpet, and the three crystal vials on the floor. The man himself was gone. 

Dewey turned and padded back over to him, his wings now tucked along his back. Wearing only boxer shorts, he looked less like an avenging angel and more someone half awake looking for a midnight snack. He stepped over the objects left in the intruder’s wake, but Beetlejuice stretched forward and snagged the vials as Dewey helped him to his feet. 

“What did you do to that asshole?” he asked, as the angel looked him over fretfully and gently wiped the tears off his cheeks. 

“I sent him away. Dropped him in a park about a hundred miles away. Wiped his memory of anything to do with witchery. He’ll just be another boring accountant, as stereotypical as they’re made out to be.”

Beetlejuice chuckled. 

“Are you okay?”

He nodded, even though Dewey continued to look him over like maybe he wasn’t being truthful.

“I appreciate the assist. I didn’t expect him to have one up on me.”

The angel smiled. “I’ll let you take out the next intruder. Come on, let’s go back to bed. We can tell Molly what happened tomorrow, and let her know she’s got a new knife.”

He slipped an arm around the demon’s waist to lead him back to the bedroom. Beetlejuice paused a second, to slip the three vials back into the velvet lined drawer meant for them. He shut it and made a mental note to have Molly re-seal the drawer. 

“You sounded pretty apocalyptic, Dew,” he teased lightly. “You dare touch that which is not yours, and all that. I’m glad you saved all of Molly’s stuff.”

“Hmm?” the angel replied, again sounding more than half asleep. “Oh. That. I didn’t mean the ingredients or even those little vials. I meant you, baby.”

Dewey pressed a kiss to the side of the demon’s head, and herded him back to bed.


End file.
